Last Second Miracles
by Arait
Summary: This story is dedicated to the Ragetti foundation.Every time someone visits us one cent is donated toward the purchase of an eye that actually fits and is made of glass.Please R&R.Fic bout Elizabeths brother who knows the crew of the Pearl 'fore the movie
1. Chapter 1

"Father, I do not want to marry that man!" Emily Laureen Myra Dantes exclaimed. Emily was seventeen and beautiful. She was average height and very skinny.

She had dark, mid-length hair that she couldn't stand to leave down, but it accentuated her green eyes. You couldn't tell she was from this French family. Now that she was seventeen, she could no longer stand the childish name Emily.

Only one person ever respected her wish to be called Myra—her first British friend Sammuel. Myra's family had moved from France to England so that her father could be a spy. Myra was ten and was in desperate need of a friend, and there was Sammuel.

"You don't want to marry Sammuel, do you?" Her father asked, "He's poor!"

"No! He's just a friend!"

"Then, who is it your in love with?"

"No one!" Myra sounded abhorred. "Father! I'm only seventeen. I don't know who I am, much less what I want in a husband. What if I wanted to marry and African, or a Spanish man? You know those Spaniards are awfully cute. The only thing I know is I don't want to marry Mr. Swann, at least not yet."

"I'm sorry, Emily." Her father was a firm believer in arranged marriages. It didn't matter to him what Myra wanted. He was all for the effect this marriage could have on his British reputation. The higher he was, the better he could spy.

Myra was thinking about this conversation as she was running, crying, to Sammuel's house. She finally arrived, and then knocked on the door. Sammuel's father opened the door, took one look at her, and yelled up the stairs, "Sam! It's for you."

He came running down the stairs, saw her, and said, "Hey Myra, what's wrong?"

Myra didn't even bother saying anything; she just fell into Sammuel's arms and kept crying. He gradually pulled her inside and sat her down.

Sammuel knelt in front of her and again asked, "What's wrong?"

She answered in some weird, moaney talk that Sammuel couldn't understand. He thought, "What did I get myself into?" and his face showed it.

He continued, "Is it Mr. Swann again?" Sammuel was good friends with Weatherby Swann as well. However, neither could know of his friendship with the other. It might have terminated their relationship, or his friendship.

"I'm not ready to get married." Myra balled.

Sammuel grabbed hands consolingly, "I know Myra. We talked about it yesterday. Think about it Myra, this may not be too bad of a thing."

"What?" She asked in shock.

"They have this phrase on my ship—sort of a saying—that they use whenever things don't go the way you'd plan. Like when some storm shreds a sail, or we lose something to a battle, that's when they say it. 'Let the night go on.' Now, I didn't really get it at first, but it seems to mean to just make the best of every situation."

"And?" Myra had stopped crying and was curious to see what Sammuel would say next.

"You have your engagement party tonight, right?"

"Right."

"Wrong! It's just a party. Forget that you're engaged and just have some fun. And you love children. Think of your marriage as a chance to have children. And I'll always be here if you need someone to talk to. Come on, your life isn't that bad!"

"Okay." She was going to be all right. His mission was accomplished!

It was very important to Weatherby Swann that Sammuel was at the party. Sammuel had hoped he didn't have to go, but Weatherby insisted. He would just have to avoid Myra. Then, Sammuel walked through the door. They had an announcer who announced everyone who came through the door, including him.

Myra came right up to Sammuel a hugged him saying, "Thank you so much for your advice. This party is awesome!" He could tell she was drunk because she never talked like that.

Sammuel spent several minutes trying to get away from Myra who seriously wanted to talk. While she was blabbing on about everything, Sammuel was trying to find Weatherby to be sure that he didn't see them. He found Weatherby talking to a few men.

Myra asked, "By the way, who invited you?"

Sammuel looked at Myra and replied, "Huh?" When he looked up again he couldn't find Weatherby.

"Who invited you?"

"Oh… uh…" He kept looking.

"I did." Weatherby appeared behind Sammuel.

Sammuel turned around and commented, "Nice to see you Weatherby."

"Nice to see you too." Weatherby grumbled as he lividly punched Sammuel. Sammuel fell over backwards and slid into the crowd that had now begun to gather. They kept making comments like, "Is that a way to treat a friend?" or "No one will ever forget this party."

No one dared help Sammuel up, even though they knew he was in the right. And though he was Weatherby's friend, he was poor, and dirty, and no one touches something dirty. He could be the king's best friend, and they wouldn't help him. Sammuel knew this, so he slowly picked himself off the floor and asked, "What was that for?"

"You know what you did." Weatherby scowled as he threw another punch that Sammuel deflected. He could never fight well, but he had learned to protect himself, a little.

"No, I don't." Sammuel replied.

"I saw you hugging my fiancé." By that time, Sammuel had his hands crossed, holding Weatherby's hands in place. Time seemed to stand still as the two friends looked into each other's eyes. Then they pushed away from each other.

Sammuel broke the silence with, "It's not what you think it is." A very bad line to say; that's what they all say.

"Then, what is it?" Weatherby drew his sword, and readied himself for attack.

Weatherby's daughter, Elizabeth who was only two at the time, stumbled to come see what the commotion was about. The only thing Myra ever did was stop Elizabeth before she could get in the way. Myra loved Elizabeth. That's the only reason she ever survived marriage. But back to Sammuel; as I said, that was a bad thing for him to say. Now Sammuel had no idea what to say.

Weatherby gave him a few seconds to say something, but when Sammuel said nothing, he continued, "That's what I thought." He came at Sammuel with his sword that time.

Sammuel somehow managed to grab Weatherby's right hand and uncorner himself while saying, "Wait I can explain."

"Then, explain." Weatherby lowered his sword.

Sammuel had never been very good under pressure. Words just left him. "Okay maybe I can't."

Weatherby charged him again.

"But...I don't love her." Sammuel was able to dodge on slash, but that was the end of his calm. He started rambling, "It's confusing. I don't even get it. We're more like brother-sister." All the while he was trying to get away, or at least be safe.

It wasn't working, so he desperately cried, "Wait!" still not knowing what he was going to say.

Since Weatherby was so worked up, he did everything in large actions. Therefore he took one huge step backwards and complained, "You're really starting to annoy me Sam. This is the last time I'm going to wait for you to say something. Next time, I'm going to kill you."

That gave Sammuel and idea. "Go ahead; kill me if you want to."

"Okay." Weatherby replied.

He almost started toward Sammuel again, but Sammuel added, "But...I want you to fight fair." To the British nobility it was very important that a fight was fair and equal, so Weatherby stopped in his tracks.

"What do you mean?"

"Remember the first day you ever saw Emily?"

"Yes, and I swore I would marry her right then and there."

"But I had known her for five years before that, five years. And we had something going on."

"Oh, and you didn't tell me this! For our whole relationship, I was dating someone who was already in love." This didn't seem to be going the right direction for Sammuel.

"No, because when I saw you two together, I realized you had something even better between you. And what was more, you could give her the things a girl needs. So I gave up everything that was more than just a friendship with her. I purposefully took that job as a sailor, so that I could get away from her, so that we would draw apart."

"Why?" Myra asked quietly. She looked shocked, and sad, and not drunk anymore.

"Why not? Weatherby was my friend, and I had an unfair advantage over what he wanted, and deserved." He turned back to Weatherby, "Now go ahead, and kill me. I really don't care. But, I want life, and I deserve life even if it's only a little. And you have years of experience on me with that sword."

"That is true." Weatherby said. Flattery really does work.

"Now, I realize you hate me, and I realize you don't want me to walk out of here alive. But for the sake of your reputation, for the sake of Emily's happiness I ask you, no I implore you." He got to his knees. "Throw the sword down and at least pretend you fought me fair."

There was another awkward silence that lasted forever. Weatherby looked at Myra, at Elizabeth, at the crowd, and at Sammuel. He just kept looking around because he was now the one at a lack of knowing what to do. The crowd was silent and kept looking at each other, wondering what would happen next.

Myra was on the verge of crying again. Sammuel just knelt there, dejected, praying something might help him. No one knew what he was trying to accomplish by saying those things. Not even Sammuel really knew what he meant. Everything contradicted itself. Was he using reverse psychology on Weatherby? Was he trying to get mercy or forgiveness? Or did he really want to die?

Weatherby had decided on the latter. He tossed his sword aside, appearing to be willing to either forgive Sammuel, or at least fight fair. Sammuel heard the clang as the sword hit the ground, and he looked up. There was Weatherby, standing there with his arms outstretched, welcoming Sammuel back.

Now being the non-fighter he was, Sammuel made his worst mistake right then. He looked back down to stand up, and Weatherby took advantage of that. While Sammuel wasn't looking, he grabbed his pistol and held it behind his back. Everyone knew it but Sammuel.

Weatherby gestured to his left- keeping the gun behind him- and invited, "Would you care to join me at our table?" Now Sammuel wasn't stupid. He knew that when Weatherby lost his temper he never calmed down that fast. Therefore he walked with caution because he knew Weatherby had something up his sleeve. But he had never expected to be pistol whipped on the left side of his head.

He fell to the ground just as even the best fighters do. He would have been all right, for he was starting to get back up. However, when he got to his hands and knees, Weatherby kicked him, in the gut, and fell back down.

During this whole process, Weatherby was talking. As Sammuel fell the first time, he exclaimed, "I don't fight fair!" He paused for a moment. "At least not with dirty," the first kick, "lying," another, Sammuel stopped trying to get up, "thieves!"

There was almost a third, but everything was interrupted by, "Hey everybody! I'm here!" There was a corpulent, happy man walking down the stairs. He had a loud bellowing voice that everyone could hear. As soon as the crowd heard his voice, they dispersed and made the appearance that nothing had ever happened.

Weatherby also heard his voice and immediately recognized it as his father. He looked up just to be sure, and it was. He also noticed the crowd had dispersed and left him with now cover, so he knew he had to stop.

His father was making the rounds. He would stop and say hi to everyone, give them a hug- he was very friendly- and move on. However, you could tell he was making his way towards Weatherby. That meant Weatherby couldn't hide what he had done.

Weatherby just stood there waiting for his father. Myra was inching closer and closer to Sammuel to see if he was still alive. When Weatherby's father finally got there, Myra jumped up.

He said, "I'm sorry I'm late Weatherby. I just...what happened here?" He had been hugging Weatherby when he saw Sammuel. "What happened to your friend?" You could tell in his voice that he didn't approve of the friendship, but was trying to be supportive. Then, Weatherby's father's personal advisor walked up and whispered a bunch of gibberish into the father's ear. They looked hilarious standing next to each other because the advisor was a tall scrawny fellow. After the advisor had finished, Weatherby's father was floored!

"How dare you treat someone who you claim to be friends with like that! And especially not at a party where you can hurt your reputation. Didn't I teach you better?" People had started to gather before this, but now everyone was there.

"He's not my friend!"

"What did he do to make you change your mind, son? In one night what could he have done?"

Weatherby looked at the floor, and then without moving his head, he glared up at his father. "He's a dirty, lying thief!"

"Now what did I tell you about making poor people your friend? But now that he's your friend, you have to treat him like a friend, even disown him like a friend."

"But he didn't treat me like a friend." Weatherby scowled.

"I ask you again, what did he do?"

"He was hitting on my girl!"

"He was not!" Myra interrupted. "He's just—"

"Stay out of this. It's not about you." Weatherby said as he slapped Myra. Like I said, once he lost his temper, it was gone for a few days.

"Actually," Weatherby's father calmly stated, "it's all about her. And I suggest you let her tell her side of the story."

I know that was a terrible place to end that night, but after that something happened which everyone there refuses to speak about. Everyone managed to come out alive, and Weatherby claimed to have forgiven Sammuel. Of course, that was a lie, but it still doesn't make sense what they could be hiding.

That was May; this was December. Everyone had seemed to be fairly happy for those several months. However, one night, Myra came home crying. Her father was visiting France; the slaves were in bed. Sammuel had taken another job on the seas, and her wedding was the next day. Everything was coming down on her already, and then, it happened.

For Weatherby's 23rd birthday, he had been given a brand new house by his father. He invited Myra over for dinner, and since they were all alone, he felt free to do whatever he wanted. Myra had felt terrible after that night, so dirty. But this was worse.

Things had been different lately. She went to the doctor, and sure enough, she was pregnant. She planned on telling Weatherby the next day, or the next, but she needed to talk now. The only thing she could do was write a long, long letter to Sammuel.

That night, she cried herself to sleep. The next day, she was too busy to mail the letter, what with her father coming back, and her wedding and all. She put the letter in the bag she was bringing to Weatherby's house. Surprisingly, the wedding went well—enough.

After the wedding, however, Myra lay in bed thinking of how best to tell Weatherby. It was very, very late before she finally came up with the right words.

She leaned over and whispered, "Weatherby." No answer. "Weatherby…Weatherby!" He was asleep. She figured she'd just tell him the next morning.

The next morning, though, Weatherby was up way before Myra was. He was bored—and trying to be nice—so he started unpacking for her. Then, he came across the letter to Sammuel. It didn't take long before he'd decided to read it.

Weatherby came running up the stairs, and shouted, "You're pregnant!"

A half-awake Myra mumbled, "What did you say?"

"I can't believe you would tell Sammuel before me!" He continued, "I'm your husband now. You trust me! Do you understand that?"

Myra sat up, realizing this was a serious thing and replied, "I tried to tell you last night Weatherby, but you were asleep. I'm sorry."

Ignoring her, he kept yelling, "He'd better not come home next week, or else." He burnt the letter in the candle on the bureau. Then, changing the subject, he asked, "Look outside; what do you see?"

Myra got out of bed, walked to the window, and looked out with him, "It's dark outside. I can't see much. The yard, the mountains, or something."

"Exactly! I gave you all of this…the yard, the mountains, everything. And all I ask back of you is that you are loyal to me, and you tell me the truth."

"That's fine. I promise I will." She said willingly.

"Then tell me, who's baby is it?"

"Yours! Of course!" She said truthfully.

"If that is the truth, then why would you tell Sammuel before me?" He had a good point—now if only he could get there more calmly next time.

"I swear in the name of God that it is yours Weatherby! I would have told you, but you were busy when I found out. Nobody was home; I had no one to tell, but I just had to tell someone. Otherwise I'd go insane. I just couldn't wait."

Weatherby didn't believe her, but he acted satisfied with the answer. He spent the next few months gathering new ways to prove Myra had been lying, so he could disbelieve the statement. But he never found anything.

Weatherby wanted to kill somebody so bad. He did everything in his ability to vent his feelings. He burnt every letter Sammuel sent them, including the one that said his ship was attacked, and his arrival home would be delayed. When Sammuel finally did get home, Weatherby made sure he was fired.

Still, after all that, he would come to hate the child Wesley—me. He first showed that at my baby shower.

Everybody else was acting joyful. The women were all hanging around looking at presents and taking turns holding me. The men, as normal, stayed in the Study smoking, drinking, talking politics, and maybe playing some cards.

Weatherby, though, just stood in the corner glaring at everyone. He eventually walked over to Sammuel and pulled him into a back room. Weatherby hadn't said much to Sammuel since the wedding, so he could sense it wasn't going to be good.

Sammuel was shocked, however, when Weatherby pushed him against the wall, and threatened, "I'm going to kill that baby of yours!"

Then, he released Sammuel and left the room. Sammuel just stood there for a moment. What had Weatherby meant? He didn't have a baby. He hardly had a fiancé, much less a child. Whatever it was, it was going to be bad.

Sammuel realized he had to stop this. He ran out of the room and started searching the party for Weatherby. He glanced out the window for a second, and saw someone riding quickly away from the party. He supposed it was Weatherby—which he was right.

He made his way through the crowd, and out the door. Someone had just arrived and he was getting off his horse.

Sammuel asked, "Can I borrow your horse?" Without waiting for a reply, he handed the man six bits and jumped on the horse. He finished, "Thank you. I'll bring it back. I promise!"

He rode off following the other rider who was now just a speck on the horizon. Sammuel rode the horse hard and was starting to catch up when he realized they were going up to the cliff. When he got to the top, Sammuel jumped off the horse. He could see Weatherby standing there holding me over the edge.

He didn't turn around to say, "I knew you'd come."

I was tired of crying, so it had become more of a quiet sobbing.

Sammuel commented, "You know, I just thought I'd remind you of what happened to your other wives. Amanda—killed by pirates, a week before your wedding. Elizabeth's mother died in childbirth."

"Are you blaming those things on me?" Weatherby asked appalled.

"No, I'm simply stating, you don't have the best luck with…girls. Most men want sons, and—if your life continues the way it has been—you're about to kill your only chance."

"But I can never love him, the bastard. He's not mine."

"Then, whose is he?" Sammuel was shocked.

"Don't try to fool me. I know he's yours." Weatherby scowled.

"MINE!" Then, everything made sense to him, why Weatherby had stopped talking to him and all.

"Stop playing these games with me! I know you're lying. I don't want to have anything to do with a liar like you. Can't you see the clues?"

"You did all that?" Sammuel asked, seeing even more of the picture. "Firing my father, and then me…You've all but killed me, and all because you thought I had an affair with your wife. You…" He stopped in frustration, unable to express his feelings. Finally, he started again, "How long does it take for a baby to be born. Nine months, is it not?"

Weatherby did not respond.

"Would you not agree that it takes nine months?" Sammuel asked again.

"Yes," Weatherby agreed reluctantly. "Why?"

"Where was I nine months ago, Weatherby?" Again, no answer. "See, you speak before you think. I was anchored off the coast of Africa. How do you think I got to your wife?"

"I do not know," Weatherby mumbled.

"That is because I couldn't have."

That entire time, Sammuel had been inching closer and closer to Weatherby with the intentions of grabbing me. He didn't grab me, but instead, got his words together enough to say, "Look at the child for a moment. He looks like you, does he not? He has your eyes, your nose. No matter how much you hate me, you have to realize that he **is** your son. Nothing can change that. Appreciate it…and hate me some other way."


	2. Chapter 2

"Yet another bad ending to a story," you must be thinking. Fine, fine. I'll tell you. My father didn't end up killing me that day—because if he had the story would be over—but he didn't really take the advice of Sammuel. Being the stubborn man that he was, he somehow continued to believe that I was Sammuel's kid. He never showed it in public—he had a reputation to worry about—but I knew about it all. He reminded me everyday. "You left handed bastard," became almost like a second name to me.

Things got suddenly worse when I was seven, though. It started out with a bad day for Father. **Everything** went wrong. The maid spilt tea all over his new—expensive—garment. Then, he went to clean off, and fell into the city well. The man who finally helped him out had loaned him a large sum of money and was hoping to collect it. Father thought he must have offended God, so he went to the church to confess. There he found the priest making out with a nun.

He quickly left and rushed back to work, only to find himself late for a very important meeting, during which they fired him for the last several times he had been late. Along the way home, he was splashed by a carriage and threatened by a homeless man. That was a really, really bad day, but do notice, none of it was my fault.

When Father arrived home, he burst through the door and shouted, "Emily!"

She happily came from the living room to meet him. "Good day Mister," she greeted standing on her tip-toes to kiss him. Mister is what she called Father when she was in an especially good mood. After the kiss—and feeling his wet suit—she realized he hadn't had a good day.

"You had a bad day again, didn't you?" She asked pitying him.

Without answering, he turned toward the stairs and demanded, "Where's that child?"

"No!" Mother jumped back in front of him, "No, no, no. This is not Wesley's fault. You will not blame it on him…again."

"Elizabeth!" Father called, knowing Mother wouldn't give in. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was eleven, the age where girls cannot keep anything secret.

"Yes Father?" She skipped into the loft.

"Where is your brother?"

Mother was shaking her head no, but Elizabeth didn't notice it. Instead, she replied, "Oh, he's at Sammuel's house. Do you like my dress? Mother just bought it for me."

"Of course, it's lovely." In all reality, he hadn't even noticed it. "Go play." Elizabeth skipped back to her room, and Father turned back to Mother. "I'll be back soon," He said walking out the door.

I was at Sammuel's house. I went over there a lot. We would take turns reading to each other—which Father didn't like—and he would tell me stories about pirates—which Father didn't like. It was the only place I got to act like just a regular kid, though, so I kept going. His wife was a good cook too. She never said much, but she always sat in on Sammuel's stories. That day, he was telling me the story of Jason. Although, now I know Sammuel had made the stories up, at that point I thought he was a real guy.

_Jason was a guy who fought for the good and the bad sides. He had killed over 300 pirates—so far—and was a pirate himself. Of course, Jason only killed the bad pirates, the ones that break the law._

That was how every episode started. This was the 301st story Sammuel had told me. Jason had been on vacation with his Spanish lover Esperanza when their ship was attacked by evil pirates of the ship Malevolence. The pirates were going to throw his Lady overboard because Jason had killed one of their crew a few years before. Jason had been tied to the mast where he would have to watch Esperanza walk the plank. That was how far we had gotten into the story. I do have to admit, though, Sammuel told it better.

"Then Esperanza heard a familiar voice behind her," Sammuel continued. "'Not so fast Captain Marks!' Jason had somehow gotten untied and now held his sword to the throat of Captain Marks." Sammuel held his sword out, pretending to be Jason.

"Jason demanded, 'Release her or else!' 'Else what?' Marks taunted. 'Or else, I'll slit your throat!' Marks glared at Jason, 'You wouldn't dare!' he exclaimed drawing his sword. The two of them fought vigorously, leaving Esperanza there surrounded by pirate onlookers." Sammuel was moving his sword left and right—and you could tell he didn't know what he was doing. Suddenly, he stopped.

"Where did my wife go?" He asked me, just realizing she had left.

"Someone's at the door." I replied, more interested in the rest of the story. "She'll be back. Keep going." I was right. She did come back, but Sammuel didn't keep going. It was my Father who was at the door.

"I'm sorry, I tried to stop him, but—" That is the only thing I ever remember hearing her say.

"Wesley, we are going home," Father commanded.

"Why?" I asked.

"We need to have 'a family discussion.'" He answered, grabbing me by the arm. He was trying to hide what he really meant, but Sammuel and I knew him well enough. Not to mention, when blabber-mouth Elizabeth came too, everything got let loose.

"Weatherby," Sammuel complained, "Can he not stay just a little longer? We have almost finished with the story. Your discussion can't be so important that it can't wait ten minutes, can it?"

"We must leave now!" He shouted pulling me a bit closer to the door.

"I think you will stay," Sammuel decided pushing Father into the only chair he had. "Here, have some tea, and a biscuit." Sammuel handed Father those things and continued, "Kick up your feet and relax. We're going to have a bit of a discussion." His wife escorted me to the other side of the room, just in case things got a little heated.

"About what?" Father scowled.

"About the word discussion…as it pertains to your son. He is a wonderful, very talented boy, Weatherby. But you will never see that if you keep blaming him for everything that goes wrong in your life. I don't care how bad of a day you had, don't 'discuss' it with him. He is but a child."

After a second, Father stood up and responded, "You will not tell me how to care for my family. He is my son, and I will raise him as I wish." Then, he turned to me, "Come along boy." I reluctantly got up, and we left.

Once we were gone, Sammuel complained, "That poor boy. I just wish I could help him…just once."

His wife put her arm around his waist comfortingly, "You do. Every time you try, and that's what matters. 'Tis not your fault, so Wesley forgives you."

"Yeah, I guess."

There were rules to the "game" Father played with me. One was that he **always** had to write a list of all the things I had done to make him mad. Father spent the whole ride home just working on that. We made him do that because it was supposed to make him stop and think, maybe cool off. It didn't work; in fact, it often made things worse. He just thought of more he could blame on me. The second rule was that I had to read the list before things started. That made things worse too.

When we got home, Father dragged me out of the carriage, in the house, up the stairs, and into my room. He shut the door, and two servants stepped in from of it right before freaked out Elizabeth and Mother could get to the door.

"Here! Read it!" Father shouted, shoving the list in my face. It read:

The Things You Have Done to Make Me MAD:

You can read this, which means

I have to waste time writing this and waiting for you to read it, and

It means you spend the majority of your life at Sammuel's house reading,

Which means that after a long hard day including a large debt and losing my job—

Which was primarily your fault because I had to stay home and baby-sit you when you got sick last week—

I had to go visit my worst enemy,

Speak to a poor woman,

Hold a slightly intelligent conversation with Sammuel,

And bear through a horrible story about horrible pirates, just to

Find out you told Sammuel about our 'secret'!!

It said mostly the same things as every other time, with the exceptions being four, five and ten. Five was a lie. Sure, he lost his job because he had to take care of me when I was sick. Yeah right. First he made me sick. Second, Mother did make him stay home, but he was going to lose his job anyways. It wasn't like I could stop Father, though, being only seven, even if most of it wasn't really my fault. I just set the list down and waited nervously.

My room was dark and gloomy most of the time. That was the way Father thought my entire life should be. I sat down on the foot of the bed—which took up most of the room. Father rolled his sleeves up and readied himself. Another servant, who loyally stood behind Father, hung his head in disapproval but did nothing. He could do nothing.

"As you can see," Father began, gesturing the servant to step forward. The servant was holding a silver platter. "There were ten reasons on that list. That means you have just upgraded to a level three punishment…flogging." He chuckled gleefully, pulling a whip from the platter so fast that Mother and Elizabeth could hear the snap. They paused for a second, thinking I had actually been hit, and then resumed their attempt to get into the room with more vigor.

I too had thought Father was hitting me already and closed my eyes in fear. He wasn't though, just teasing me. He was definitely too happy about this. I hadn't remembered that ten reasons made level three. Now that I knew, though, I had to convince him that it wasn't really ten.

"But I didn't tell Sammuel that, Father," I insisted backing up a little bit, "I didn't tell him that. It can't be level three yet 'cause I didn't tell him that." I wanted so bad to run away, but there was nowhere to run to.

"Is that so?" Father walked to me until he was so close it seemed he was towering over me. He picked me up by my neck, without choking me, but hard enough to show he could. "Then, who was it?" He whispered.

I didn't want to say that…get Elizabeth in trouble, but I really didn't want to be flogged. Plus, it was only one offense for her, not severe at all. Finally, I stumbled out, "Elizabeth." Father didn't believe me, though. He dropped me to the floor.

Before I could get up, he shouted, "Make that eleven, no twelve reasons!"

"What?" I looked up at him in confusion, figuring I had more time than I really did.

"You were trying to avoid punishment," he scolded, hitting my back with the whip. Before I could scream, before I could even feel there was a pain, he was on the second slap. It was accompanied by the twelfth reason, "By lying to me."

That time I screamed. Father just stood there waiting for me stop. When I finally realized that was what he was waiting for, I stopped screaming. I decided I should get up, even though I still had tears streaming down my face. I know I sound like a wuss, but that is not the case. I've seen many grown men brought to tears after their first flogging, and I was only seven.

"Quit blaming things on your sister," Father commanded. He was going to hit me again, but I saw it this time. I did a backwards somersault and quickly stood up, making Father miss. I got a gleam in my eyes. It wasn't often I could do that. Then, I saw Father again.

"I promise Father, I am not lying," I pleaded.

"Really? I find that hard to believe. Are you so sure you want to say that? Because we can surely step it up another level if you so wish it."

"No," I replied looking to the floor.

"Then, come back over here, turn around, and stop lying."

I obeyed; I had no other choice. There was another stroke, and I fell to my knees screaming—but not as loud this time. Just then, Mother and Elizabeth made it in. They were used to the "game," so Elizabeth walked right over to the bed and read the list to Mother. Father hit me a fourth time.

When she reached the last reason, Elizabeth's eyes widened, and she ran over to Father pointing at it. "No Father!" she exclaimed, "Stop! He didn't do that, I did!"

Father stopped his arm in mid-swing and turned to Elizabeth, ready and willing to bring it down on her instead. That was a nice thought, a nice idea, but the wrong time. When Father was mad, he stayed mad. "How dare you!" He growled moving toward her. She screamed and turned to run, but Father caught her by the arm.

I could hardly move. I was lying on my stomach, on the floor, but I had to save her. Hitting a girl just wasn't right. Plus, even if she loved to talk, that sometimes helped me a lot. It sure did make me feel better faster. It took all of the energy I had to get halfway up and crawl quickly over to her, pulling her to the floor and underneath me. The whip was already coming down, though, and Father hit me rather than Elizabeth.

Somehow I forced myself not to scream, but instead whisper, "You have to stay pretty." Then, I laid my head down because I couldn't hold it up any longer.

Father grabbed me by the arm so hard that it felt like he broke it—he didn't, but it still felt like he had. He threw me against the north wall of my room. I hit the wall hard and fell face first to the floor. I wasn't getting up again after that. However, Father still wasn't done. He still had to get Elizabeth, so he raised the whip and was about to strike when…

"Mister Swann," one of the servants called through the door, "There is someone at the gate to see you."

"I'll be down in a moment," Father said with a sigh. Dropping the whip, he left the room disappointed and still frustrated.

Mother and Elizabeth also sighed. Mother did because it was finally over, and she could breathe again. Elizabeth did out of relief that nothing had happened to her. I didn't even have the energy to do that. Instantly, they both came over to see if I was all right. Mother scooped me up into her arms, rocked me back and forth, and went into another of her crying sprees.

"Mother," Elizabeth began curiously, "when Wesley was trying to protect me, he said something. 'You have to stay pretty.' What do you think he meant by that?"

Mother wiped the tears from her eyes. "I don't know. Perhaps he meant these things aren't meant to happen to women. Women can never marry with such a scar, even one as beautiful as yourself." Then, she got up and brought me to my bed. She laid me down on my front and pulled the covers over, finishing, "I must leave. I have things I must tend to, but will you stay here and keep him company when he awakens?"

She nodded and sat in a chair next to my bed to wait. I was awake already. I wanted to tell them so. I wanted Mother to stay there and sing to me, and even if Mother couldn't stay, Elizabeth could sing. I liked it when Elizabeth sang, especially that crazy pirate song Sammuel taught us. She did it beautifully, but I didn't have the energy to say that. I decided, it might be best if I did sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Two days later, I was sitting up in bed and starting to feel much better. Elizabeth and I were teasing each other and talking like brothers and sisters talk. Mother was standing by the door just watching us when Father came in. Elizabeth stopped in the middle of her sentence, and we all turned to him fearfully.

"I'm going searching for a job today, Emily," He said after kissing her lightly. "I'll see you for supper tonight." Then, he directed the rest toward me, "That means you best not do anything questionable."

He quickly left.

As soon as he was gone, Mother asked, "Are you two ready to go to Sammuel's house?"

"Yeah!" Elizabeth and I shouted, both jumping up.

I had forgotten, though, that I still wasn't fully recovered, so as quickly as I had gotten to my feet, I fell back to the ground. For a second, I was surprised, but then I remembered why that would happen.

"Are you all right?" Mother questioned, running towards me and helping slowly to my feet.

"Yes…I guess."

I supported myself on things and Mother all the way to the front door and stumbled into the carriage. Not to long later, I stumbled back out of the carriage and onto Sammuel's front porch. I fell over on the stairs and was kneeling on them when Sammuel opened the door. Sammuel didn't notice me at first, however. He was completely shocked that Mother was there.

"Myra!" He exclaimed after a moment, "I haven't seen you in forever!" He picked her up and put her down inside the house. That was when he noticed me and asked, "What happened here?"

"We'll explain inside," Elizabeth stated smartly, helping me take the last few steps.

Sammuel's wife came out, drying her hands on her apron. She was pregnant, and it was to the point of obvious now—maybe seven and a half to eight months.

"Myra," Sammuel began, "I would like you to meet my wife." A slight pause and a mischievous smile finished, "My Wife, meet Myra."

"Hi My-Wife," Elizabeth and I joked.

His wife rolled her eyes and lovingly glared at Sammuel. "I'm sorry Melony," he laughed after a second, "I just couldn't resist." She continued glaring, so he hugged her. That didn't change anything either. "Fine. Why don't you take Myra to the kitchen and…do whatever girls do in the kitchen. I need to speak to Wesley."

"Okay," the two mothers agreed suspiciously, walking away and doing a bit of small talk.

Sammuel knelt down and asked me, "Wesley, what happened? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," I mumbled, lying.

"Come on, Wes. You know that I know the terrible things that can happen when your father gets angry, but I've never seen you like this before. Whatever happened is worse than normal. I can't make it better if you don't tell me."

"I can't tell you," I whispered. "Anyways, you aren't my doctor."

Elizabeth walked right over to him and tried to whisper what happened, though it turned out much louder. "Daddy whipped him."

"Ooh," he kind of moaned and looked at me. His eyes sort of said, 'I know your pain.' Then, he asked Elizabeth, "How much?"

"Five times."

"Five! That's harsh for a first." He said to make me feel better; though, now I know that was a lie. For a moment, he was at a loss for words, until he got an idea. "I've got a great story for you today that's bound to cheer you up," he said helping me to my feet again, "You'll be back on your feet in no time."

We had a picnic in the field a little up town where Sammuel worked during crop seasons. (I know, I said he was a sailor. He does that too, just only when they don't have a need for farmers.) It was a beautiful day, and Sammuel was about to tell another Jason story. Mother had never heard any of the stories—save what I told her when I came home—and her reactions were almost better than the story itself.

"Jason was a guy who fought for the good and bad sides," Sammuel started.

I smiled. It started small and grew, bigger and bigger.

Elizabeth jumped up and screeched, "Yes!" Then she skipped about singing, "We're going to learn about Jason. We're going to…" over and over.

"Who?" Mother asked, very confused.

"He killed over three hundred pirates—but not yet—and was a pirate himself," Sammuel explained by continuing with the story. Elizabeth sat back down.

"A pirate! How horribly dreadful! And he killed three hundred people?"

"Oh, but Mother. Jason was no ordinary pirate," Elizabeth commented.

"And of course, he only killed the bad pirates who break the law." It was neat how Sammuel could answer her question by using the next line of the story.

"All pirates break the law," Mother recited with a little bit of scorn in her voice.

"No, no," Sammuel laughed, "The pirate's law. It is a code of morals that every pirate is to follow. Anyhow, he isn't a pirate yet."

"He's not?" Elizabeth asked in shock.

"No, people aren't born pirates, Elizabeth. Jason's father was a French fisherman. The only problem was, he was Huguenot during a time of religious hatred. The Catholics hated the Huguenots and the Huguenots hated the Catholics."

"Don't we hate Catholics, Mother?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yes, His Majesty the King does," Mother replied, trying to hide whether she actually did or not.

"Anyhow," Sammuel said again to change the subject, "the Catholics began to view the Huguenots as a danger to the nation. They searched all over for the Huguenots, most of which they found and killed. Eventually, when Jason was fourteen, they caught him and his father on their fishing boat."

"What did they do?" Elizabeth asked quietly. I couldn't believe they kept asking so many questions, it just makes the story take longer.

"They pointed a gun at Jason's father's head," Sammuel was gesturing again, "and then forced Jason to sail the boat away from shore. There they proceeded to beat him to death in front of Jason's eyes."

"Sammuel!" Mother exclaimed, "So much violence, and in front of the kids!"

"I agree; it's violent. But that is what happened. Many healthy men were killed that way for religious reasons, and sailors too. Events like this define the way people are."

"Am I going to die?" I whispered. That is what he made it seem like.

"No," he answered squatting down. "You see, almost all sailors have been beat at one time or another. Yes, many of them die, but most of them don't die. They're just like you, and Jason too. He got beat later too." Then, he stood back up ready to tell the rest of the story.

It was at that point that the rest of us realized why he was telling this story—it was an experience of someone else who'd been through the same thing and survived. He wanted me to realize that I was not alone. From then on, flogging was connected to bravery because Jason was my hero, and he was brave.

"But," Sammuel went on with the story, "before Jason's father died, he whispered to Jason, 'Don't hold on.' At that time, Jason had no idea what his father meant by that. He was contemplating the meaning…" Sammuel paced back and forth like if he were thinking. "…when one of the Catholics slammed the door open and made him an offer."

In a very strong, fake, French accent, Sammuel offered, "'We will release you only if you swear an oath on the Bible that you will be Catholic for all eternity.'"

"That is a Catholic for you," Mother interrupted, "always trying to convert the whole world."

"Jason replied, 'I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request.'"

"What?" Elizabeth and I both asked. He always tried to throw in some difficult words to teach us in a story too.

"It means 'I don't want to.'" Sammuel explained. "Now, because Jason responded that way, the Catholics whipped him too, in hopes a little pain would change his opinion. In fact, pain does change how the world seems to you, but not in the way the Catholics had hoped. So Jason clenched his fists, bit his teeth together, and prepared to resist the pain. After the first stroke, he looked up, for apparently no reason.

"From his angle, he noticed his hands and randomly thought, 'Hey, it looks like I'm holding onto a bar.' Then, it finally dawned on him that that was what his father was talking about. Immediately, Jason unclenched his fists, opened his mouth, and relaxed his muscles, giving himself the chance to take his mind away from the pain. Amazingly, it made it hurt less."

"Does that really work?" I inquired, remembering that I had tensed up.

"It worked for me."

"I still can't believe you are telling this story to my kids," Mother complained, finally able to inject a thought.

"The Catholics swore they would do the same thing again the next morning, but Jason still wouldn't convert. That night there was a dangerous storm that landed the boat in the middle of the ocean. The next morning, Jason went up on deck, expecting the worst."

"Jason! No Sammuel! Stop it, this is sad!" Mother had started to cry.

Elizabeth sarcastically repeated what Jason had said before, "I agree, it is sad, but it's the truth."

"Ah, I've tricked you both." Sammuel bragged, "You see, the Catholics were too preoccupied with something else to even bother with Jason. You see, they spotted a pirate ship."

"Whose? Was it Malevolence his arch enemy?" Elizabeth guessed.

"Or was it Invidious, another repeat offender?" I supplied, referring to one of my favorite episodes.

Then, we all looked at Mother, waiting for her to say which ship she thought it was. She, however, knew very little about pirates—or even ships. She just sat there thinking.

Embarrassed, she simply said the first thing that came to her mind, "Could it have been…the Black Pearl, terror of the seas?"

I broke out in laughter. "Mother, you know the Black Pearl isn't real. It's no more than a legend." Of course, that only made a difference because I thought Jason was real.

Sammuel and Mother exchanged a knowing glance. Something there made me uneasy, but I couldn't tell what about it sent shivers down my spine.

"You are all wrong," Sammuel said after a moment. "They saw the ship Satisfaction and were about ready to begin firing on it."

"What!" I was appalled.

"Okay…now, this is sad," Elizabeth sniveled.

"Huh?" Mother asked, not getting. "What is so special about that ship?"

"That's Jason's ship!" Now, Elizabeth was bawling.

"Oh," she shrugged indifferently.

"'Fire!' The leader Catholic called," Sammuel continued, "However, since this was just a little fishing boat, they had no cannons, just pistols. The Catholics fired their pistols, and Jason huddled in the corner, knowing they were making a very stupid decision. It only took one shot from the pirates' cannons before the Catholics surrendered. A little later that evening, the captain of Satisfaction, Henry—"

Elizabeth interrupted, "Oh Captain Kidnap. I love Captain Kidnap." She had gone through a phase where she had to give everything a nickname, and that was his. Captain Henry Morgan, greatest pirate in the world, was named kidnap. That was why I was convinced the stories were true, of course Captain Morgan was real.

"Yes, well Captain 'Kidnap' released Jason from the prison that night but left the Catholics in it. Right in front of them, he offered, 'Jason, we would like you to join us in pirating the seven seas.'"

"Let me guess," Mother mumbled, "he replied, 'I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request.'" She was sarcastic and still not impressed.

"No!" I explained, "He said what he always says when people say that. 'There are many more than seven seas.'"

"'Yes there are,' the captain agreed, 'but we only pirate in seven. The others are enclosed and much too difficult to get to.' Jason thought for a moment, about his father, then replied, 'I really shouldn't.'"

"He can't say that! He has to be a pirate! You're telling it wrong." Elizabeth commanded.

"No, he did say that Elizabeth. You can't change that."

"Well, then what did Captain Kidnap say to change his mind? Because he is going to be a pirate."

"He answered, 'I understand completely. That is what everyone says at first. After all, piracy is illegal. If you would prefer, I could put you right back in prison with those men who you seem to get along with perfectly.' Morgan pointed to the jail. Jason looked at it and at the Catholics, remembering what they had done to his father. He turned back to Morgan and asked, 'Do your men fight Catholics?'"

"Why of course they did!" Elizabeth exclaimed, "Remember Darwin?"

"And Antonio," I added.

"Philip."

"Paulo."

"Columbus."

"Marcus."

"Yes, but Jason didn't know that yet did he?" Sammuel asked. "So Morgan said, 'For you Sir, we could.' Then, realizing it was the men in the jail that Jason was talking about, he continued, 'If you can give ample reason that they deserve it.' 'Uh…they killed my father.' 'Well, all righty then. That's perfectly enough reason'"

"Is it really that easy?" Elizabeth inquired excitedly.

"No, he's got to just be flattering—what's his name—Joseph, or something." Mother purposefully dampened Elizabeth's excitation because she was afraid of pirates and didn't like how much we enjoyed learning about them.

"No, he is not flattering Jason. And yes, it is that easy—if you are his age, and a boy, and they want you there." Sammuel explained, "And if they want you there, they will find you, no matter what.

"However, Jason didn't get it that easily. He had to learn to sword fight, which takes endurance and dedication. Then, for his final test, he had to challenge the Catholics and win." Sammuel was making really weird gestures again. "For the whole six months Jason spent in training, the Catholics poked fun at him and called him Devil Child. One day, they did this while he was guarding the prison. Jason was extremely sick of it, so he figured this would be a good time to challenge them.

"He turned around and grabbed the leader by his shirt through the cell door. 'My name is Jason Pierre Tournier. I am not the Devil. And today I challenge you, in the name of my father, to gain revenge upon his death. Take up your sword.' He unlocked the cell door, slashed the rope around the leader's hands, and chased the man on deck, where they both finally drew their swords. A crowd of pirates quickly formed to see what would happen."

"What did happen?" Elizabeth questioned full of suspense.

"The man looked around at the onlookers. He looked at Jason. He became so afraid that he dropped the sword and ran right off the boat, never to be seen again."

"And that's how he became a pirate?" I asked, able to see that was the end of this story.

"And that was how he became a pirate," Sammuel repeated. "And next time I shall finish the one about Esperanza and the Malevolence." He bowed, and we all clapped—even Mother.


	4. Chapter 4

Sammuel was right. By that evening, I was walking around like nothing had ever happened. I was upstairs cleaning my room when Father came home.

"Good evening Wesley," He said reluctantly, poking his head through the open door.

"Did Mother ask you to talk to me again?" I asked.

"Yes," Father replied.

"Okay, I'll tell her we had a nice little conversation about…springtime navigation." I reached up to put something on a high shelf—well, high to me.

Just about then, Father realized I wasn't in bed anymore. "How did you get to feeling better so quickly?" He seemed a bit threatened.

"I don't know. I just felt better after we w-had lunch." I hoped he didn't notice I had almost said "went to lunch."

"What was so special about lunch today? Did you go somewhere?"

I looked at him and automatically knew that he knew we were gone. He must have come home during lunch and found out we were somewhere else.

"Yeah," I answered, "One of Mom's old friends that she hadn't seen in years invited her to lunch. She couldn't pass it up, but she couldn't get someone to watch us, so…"

"So she took you. I know. Who was it?"

"I don't know," I pretended to think, "Smith or something? Sarah was their daughter."

"Emily doesn't have friends of that name!" He shouted. He harshly picked me up and stood me on the foot of my bed. "Who was it?" He demanded again.

Mother and Elizabeth heard the ruckus—but didn't catch the words—and again came running.

Without looking at her, Father asked, "Emily, do you have any friends named Smith?" He never lost eye contact with me. I suppose he didn't want me to give her hints.

"No, I don't believe so." She frowned, not knowing what else to say. "Why?"

"Ha!" Father bragged, slapping me. "Who was it?" I looked down because I was afraid I'd say something. "Look at me," he commanded pushing my chin up. "Does that not scare you anymore? This aught to scare you!" He grabbed his whip, which now hung from his belt whenever he was at home.

I wanted to say, "Yes that does scare me," but nothing came out. I took a step backwards, but my foot caught in a fold in my blanket. As I tripped, he raised the whip, and…

"No Weatherby! Don't!" Mother pleaded as she ran between Father and me. He slapped her without even thinking.

That was only the second time he had ever hit her. It surprised us all. Father tried to forget about it and move on, but the look she gave him kept reminding him of the last time. The whole night flashed before his eyes and stopped at "Stay out of this. It's not about you."

He mumbled, "I never got to finish that."

"What?" Mother asked, very confused.

"I'm sorry," he replied excitedly. Then, he dropped the whip and rubbed her cheeks.

Turning to me, he picked me up—like a normal father—kissed me on the forehead, and exclaimed, "I love you!" He spun me around, put me down on the floor, and ran out the door saying, "You just gave me a great idea."

As soon as Father was gone, I inquired, "Mother, what is he going to do?"

"I don't know," she answered, "but whatever it is, it's bad."

Elizabeth snuck over to the door and peeked out. She could see a little bit of Father down the stairs and around the corner. He was loading a gun and mumbling things. The only word Elizabeth caught was "Sammuel."

"Sammuel!" She exclaimed, frightened, and starting to run out of the room. "He ca—"

"Oh, no!" Mother interrupted, grabbing her from behind to stop her. "Don't do that or he'll kill you too."

"Kill! Mother what do you mean by that?" I asked, in shock.

"You see, your father is a very violent man, (like I didn't already know that) and nothing any of us do can stand in his way. When he is seeking violence, he gets violence." Mother answered, though I found it hard to believe. One of these days, I would stop Father.

"But why Sammuel?" Elizabeth questioned naively.

"Did I ever tell you the story of my engagement night?"

"Yes," I replied.

"No," Elizabeth countered.

Mother recounted the whole story for us. From beginning to the same end I gave you. She finished it off with, "Ever since then your father has hated Sammuel and has been dying to finish him off. Now that he's gotten his chance, there is no stopping him."

By that time we were all on my bed curled up under the covers. Then, Mother got up and said, "Well, the story is over. I have to go make dinner." That was just an excuse of course. We all knew she had slaves to do that.

"But Mother!" Elizabeth complained. "What happened after that?"

"Yes Mother, you've never told us the rest," I added.

"No, one story is enough."

"Please!" Elizabeth and I begged together.

"All right. I guess I can tell you." And she jumped back on the bed.

Meanwhile, Father had been riding, and had just arrived at Sammuel's house. Sammuel's aged father, who could no longer speak, answered the door. He held up a sign that read, "THEY'RE BUSY," in Sammuel's handwriting.

Father just pushed him out of the way—which can seriously injure an older man—and called, "Sammuel!"

Sammuel came out of the kitchen all sooty and surprised to hear Father. However, he was even more surprised when Father pointed a gun at his head. Melony came out of the kitchen as well, and Sammuel waved her back in, trying to protect her.

"Come on out Missus," Father commanded. "You might want to hear this."

"Hello Weatherby," Sammuel started, attempting to be polite. "'Tis a pleasant surprise to have you here. Would you like anything? Some tea perhaps? I think we still have tea."

"No thank you," Father responded harshly.

"Then, what exactly is your purpose here?" Sammuel asked, pretending not to notice the gun.

"My wife came over here today, did she not?"

"Yes…That was a pleasant surprise as well. Why?"

"You mean, you didn't invite her?"

"No. She just showed up this morning."

That last comment delayed Father. His arm wavered, but only for a second.

"I don't believe you!" He shouted, his determination returning.

"But…have I ever lied to you?" Sammuel countered.

Father thought, and thought, and thought. He realized that in their whole relationship, Sammuel had never lied…until that morning.

"Yes!"

"Sammuel?" Melony whispered, confused.

"When?" Sammuel asked.

"Remember my engagement party?" Father once again thought back to that night. Sammuel tried to remember as much as he possibly could. Mother told us the story…

Weatherby had just slapped her for the first time. Remember that Weatherby's father said, "Actually, it's all about her, and I suggest you let her tell her side of the story."

But Mother didn't want to tell her side of the story. Every second, this marriage idea was growing further and further from her mind. She did not want to marry Father; she would choose Sammuel over him if that was necessary. She felt like throwing the ring at him, kicking him, spitting in his face…anything. But instead, she just stood there staring at him, about ready to cry.

Finally capable of moving, she ran up the stairs by the door. Mother had decided she had to leave the party. She had just gotten to the door and was about ready to open it when it opened on her. She fell to the floor, and a mob of people flooded in. One large, but not too bid, very dirty, male pirate with some sort of disgusting hair helped Mother up. She looked around after a second and noticed they were ALL very dirty pirates!

"Mother! That can't be!" Elizabeth interrupted. "You've never met any pirates. I thought you were telling us a true story."

"Why can't you ever just listen—to the whole story—before you make comments?" I complained.

"I can too! When it makes sense," she argued, shoving me a little.

"Cannot!" I pushed her back, and we started one of those brother-sister fights.

"Do you two want me to finish the story?" Mother asked.

"Yes," we both replied.

"Then stop fighting."

The man who helped her up said, "Sorry 'bout that. Are you all right Miss?"

"I'm fine," Mother replied, brushing herself off.

"Good…We weren't expectin' ye te be there." He paused and looked around. "I'm Jack," he said after a while, holding his hand out to shake hers, "Cap't Jack Sparrow."

Mother didn't really want to shake his hand…but he did look cute, and his hand was still stretched out. She replied, "I'm Myra," reluctantly shaking his back.

Then he went down with the rest of the people. There was just the announcer and Mohter standing at the top of the stairs looking at the mess the night had become. Mother wanted to cry, but somehow ended up laughing. A group of five pirates had taken over the band and started playing a strange type of music. The majority of the pirates had raided the food bar. One pirate named Ragetti had picked up Elizabeth.

"Aw! Looket at the baby," he said with a very strong accent to his friend Pintel. "What a beautiful baby."

Mother looked over to where Sammuel was. Three pirates were there with him—with clean hands. They were doing something. When Mother looked closer, she realized they were doctors, and they were trying to fix Sammuel. A few of the richer, more well dressed pirates—including Jack—were doing the actual stealing part. No, in reality, they were stealing the gold, and the others were stealing food and instruments.

One of the pirates was harassing Weatherby, but he broke away. He had found Sammuel as well. Father pushed the pirate away from him, picked up his pistol that he had dropped, and fired in the general direction of the doctors.

In the time it took them to stand up cautiously, and for the one in front to say, "That was a very bad idea, Sir," all the other pirates had surrounded Father and cocked their pistols. The other men in the room also had their hands on their guns, though, it wasn't apparent who they intended to shoot at. The women were frightened, but stiff. Silence seemed to last forever until someone shot. No one knows who, but it triggered everyone else to shoot as well. The screaming of the women added to the chaos as all the men shot practically at nothing.

Suddenly, out of the whole mess, Sammuel scrambled up the stairs. "What can I do to get their attention?" He shouted to Mother over all the noise.

"I don't know," she answered. For a second, they just looked out at the crowd together. "Kiss me," Mother supplied, joking.

"That might work," he joked back.

He tried everything he could think of to get their attention. He shouted; he jumped up and down; he shot in the air with his gun. He even pretended to shoot himself, faking a fall and everything. There was nothing more he could do, so he did the only thing left to do. Sammuel sighed, looked at Mother, and kissed her. One great big smooch that lasted forever! Until they all stopped shooting.

Jack saw it. Weatherby saw it, and when they saw it, they stopped, all just as shocked as Mother was. In turn, everyone else stopped shooting, and Sammuel stopped kissing.

"You're all fighting over me, eh?" Sammuel asked, "Right?...Right?" He had to ask several times because no one would answer him.

The crowd eventually mumbled a little. Sammuel must have taken that as a yes because he continued, "Well, I've solved your problem. I promise you that I shall never set eyes on Emily Laureen Myra Dantes again!" With that, Sammuel left, and it was true—Mother hadn't seen him again until this morning.

"That was the true story," Mother thought to herself as she remembered it all. "But I can't tell them that. It just isn't proper."

So she didn't tell us the rest of the story. Instead, she replied to Elizabeth's question with, "You're right. It's not true. I just couldn't stand that Sammuel could tell good stories and I could not."

"Then what did happen?" Elizabeth asked.

"Nothing really. Most of the people left. I left."

"How does that explain why he is killing Sammuel?" I demanded.

"Oh, a couple of days later he promised to never see me again," Mother explained as if it were nothing at all.

"Mother! You've killed him!" I realized.

"What?" Was all she could think to say.

"Sammuel!" I repeated, "You've bloody killed him!"

"Don't say such things!" She commanded covering my mouth. I knew she was just trying to avoid the real subject.

"I'm sorry but—"

"Who taught you that word? Did Sammuel teach you that?"

"NO! But—"

"Then, who did?"

"Well, Father said it a couple weeks ago, but it's not like I never hear it around the town."

"Oh."

"But that doesn't change the fact that this is all your fault Mother," Elizabeth continued for me. "Why did you go?"

"I don't know…I have to make supper," she answered and left.

"Yes, I remember most of the night," Sammuel replied after he thought for a while.

"Then you know exactly why I'm here," Father said.

Sammuel just looked at his hands and kicked at the floor softly. He knew why Father was there. He had known all along.

Father was becoming impatient again, so he shouted, "You saw Emily again!"

"Yes, but she came here."

"You could have sent her home."

"Yes, but…" Once again, Sammuel's "talent" with words was showing through. He had nothing to say to that. Father was right; he had messed up this time, so he tried a different approach.

Sammuel got down on his knees and begged, "But look at Melony, she's pregnant, and my father, he's sick. Right now they need me—"

There were two shots at two people. Both hit; both killed. Five lives were in the room—two dead—but no one knows who.


	5. Chapter 5

Father came home in a big hurry. As he opened the door, he called urgently, "Emily! Wesley! Elizabeth!" Mother came quickly from the kitchen as Elizabeth and I slid into the loft.

"Pack your things," Father commanded, walking up the stairs. "I've decided to take that job my father found me in Port Royal."

"We're moving?" I asked, shocked.

"That would be the only way for me to work in Port Royal," he replied sarcastically.

"I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request!" Elizabeth exclaimed.

"What?" Father was half surprised she knew what that meant, half surprised that she would defy his instructions.

"I'm not moving!" She explained, walking straight to Father and kicking him in the shin just as he reached the top of the stairs. Then, she ran to her room.

"But why Father?" I asked, still shocked. "Why do we have to move? Couldn't you find a job here?"

"No, and that's why we have to move," he answered bluntly, but Mother and I knew what that really meant. Mother and I exchanged a sad glance.

"Why is everyone so sad about this?" Father inquired. "It will be great! A whole new life, new people with no prejudice about us. A huge houses. It will be a chance to start over."

Yeah, right. I thought. Start over. Liar. But it wasn't like I really had a choice, so I decided to "Let the night go on," just like Sammuel said, and make the best of whatever happened.

I found myself repeating over and over again what Father pretended to believe about moving. We were in a city on the beach that I had never been to before. Elizabeth and I were playing tag while Father tried to buy tickets. It actually hadn't started out too bad.

The man behind the counter said, "Sorry. We only have room left for two on the next ship. You can try to catch one tomorrow."

"No! We need this ship. We must leave immediately. Can you not do anything?" Father replied harshly.

"Well, we do have plenty of room on the poor ship, you know the one that carries all the slaves, for your slaves and the other two of you, if you are that desperate. That would be the only other choice. Dreadful smell though, I wouldn't suggest it."

Father turned to us and pretended to hold a little consultation. Then, he turned back to the man and said, "We'll take it." I just hoped I wouldn't end up with that smell.

The way Father split us up, though, I began to think the smell might be the better option. For his reputation, he "had" to be on the rich ship. I had to come with him so I wouldn't get into trouble. That left Mother and Elizabeth—who at the moment weren't getting along—alone on a ship full of disgusting poor men. Smart match, eh? But it gets worse. Father knew that he would get mad at me and beat me at some point on the trip, so he drug me on the ship with my hands bound.

A young man dressed very properly, walked up to Father and introduced, "Good day, Sir."

"Good day to you too," Father replied, trying to sound cheery.

"I am James, Sir. Lieutenant James Norrington."

"Weatherby Swann." They shook hands. "Were you visiting England Sir?"

"Aye, it was a nice place."

I had gotten bored of the conversation they were trying to hold, so I grabbed my bag and the key to our room and left. I settled down on the bed and read. Unlike Father, James noticed the moment that I left.

He commented, "Was that your slave that just left?"

Father looked around, finally noticing I was gone, and immediately came searching for me. As he headed to our room, he mumbled, "That damn kid."

Norrington must have taken that as an invitation to come along, because he did, talking all the way.

"I know, Sir," he continued. "This next generation of people are just…so disobedient, so rebellious. Especially those slaves, all teaching their children to run away." He shook his head in disapproval. "But seeing that I am a Lieutenant in the British Navy, I would be delighted to help you in any possible way."

And suddenly, Father liked Norrington. Is it any surprise? He found it quite relieving to be able the pawn off his kid to someone else whenever he didn't feel like being responsible, and know I would be treated the same way.

"Excuse me for a moment," Father commanded as he walked up to our open door. "Wesley!" He called entering the room.

"Yeah," I replied looking up from the book.

Father had gotten so used to pretending to like me that he almost said, "Oh I'm so glad you're all right. I was so worried." Instead, he took a deep breath to stop himself.

"Yeah," I repeated, wondering why he was bothering me.

"Are you reading those dreadful books again?" He more stated than asked, quite angrily. Then, he grabbed the book and threw it on the bed.

"Sorry," I said sarcastically. "I didn't realize you needed me for anything."

"I don't. You should spend your time doing something more productive. That is all."

"But—" I gestured to the book. I thought reading was supposed to be productive.

"Lieutenant Norrington here is going to give you a job to keep you busy."

"Oka-ay," I agreed reluctantly. I had no idea what Father was talking about.

"Oh, and Wesley, how many times do I have to remind you to call me Master?"

I frowned at him, so totally confused, and replied, "Never again Master." I supposed I could play along until I knew what was actually happening. He wouldn't really make me a slave, would he?

"Come along Boy," Norrington ordered, grabbing me by the back of the neck. He had no idea where he was going, so he just walked, pushing me along ahead of him. About halfway across the ship, we passed the kitchen. Norrington stopped and walked in. The cook was in there tasting the food he was making.

"Hey, Austin, I found you a little helper. Take good care of him," Norrington said bringing me in with him. Then, he whispered, "He's a slave of a Swann."

"Yes Sir," Austin responded. Everyone knew Grandpa Swann who lived in Port Royal. No one would dare piss him off—though it had never happened before.

Norrington left Austin and me standing there, just staring at one another. Neither of us knew exactly what to do. After a moment, Austin just went back to whatever he was doing before. That was when I noticed how dirty the kitchen was. There were dishes piled up everywhere, and we hadn't even left port yet.

"You needed some help?" I asked to break the silence, quickly adding a , "Sir," to sound respectful.

"Sure," Austin said, not actually expecting me to accomplish anything, "you can start on the dishes."

"Okay," and so I did. There was a nice sized stack on the counter next to a bucket of water. I found a rag and hopped up on the counter between the two. I spent all that afternoon doing dishes, and Austin never once spoke to me.

The next morning I was out on deck, sitting on the edge, just watching the ocean. We were so far from land, yet I felt so safe.

Austin came up behind me. "Hey kid," he began, "you wanna come help out again. You do good dishes, eh?"

I thought for a second. I knew Father would make me do something horrible that day, and from what I had seen, the kitchen wasn't too bad of a job. If I told Father I was doing dishes, he wouldn't object when all he really wanted was to not have to deal with me.

"All right," I replied, almost forgetting the "Sir" again. I jumped off the edge and onto the deck and followed him back to the kitchen. This time, instead of ignoring each other, however, we tried to have a sort of conversations.

"So, you're the runaway slave of someone who's related to a Swann, eh?" He asked. He spoke very quickly, so it was always difficult to understand him.

"Huh?" See, I didn't understand him.

"There is a Swann on the boat, eh?"

"Yes Sir," I answered, starting on another stack of dishes.

"And you came with him, right?"

"Yes." I was beginning to get nervous. I wouldn't lie to him, but what would Father do if I told him the truth?

"And your'e chained, eh? A poor slave, on a rich boat, with a Swann for a master can only mean one thing. You've run away."

"But that's where you are wrong," I countered.

"You've never run away? Hmm."

"No! I'm not his slave. I'm his son." Oops, I said it, and I knew I shouldn't have.

"Oh." Austin frowned. He just went back to his cooking, trying to think of something to say next. For a few seconds theat seemed like forever, all you could hear was the clanking of the dishes.

"Then why does he treat you like a slave, eh?" Austin asked, unable to find his own explanation.

"I don't know. He just doesn't like me for some reason—never has. It has something to do with my mother—who he loves—being French, which doesn't make a difference for her, but suddenly, it makes me French…and the enemy. And—" I thought for a second, "well, I really shouldn't tell you."

Pretending not to really care, Austin replied, "Ah, I see. That's all right. Here, taste this." He gave me some of the food he was making. "Good, eh?"

"Yeah," I agreed, and not too long later, I felt completely free to tell him the whole story.

It must have made Austin mad, or something, because by lunch, Father knew that I had told him, and you can imagine the rest. He actually came down to the kitchen with Norrington and personally called me out.

"Lieutenant Norrington is going to watch you while I figure out what to do about this, all right Wesley?" He said.

"Yes…Master," I responded mockingly.

Norrington walked off, and I followed him reluctantly. When we got on deck, he laughed. Somehow, my father had gotten to him, I knew it, he was planning something evil. Being lunch, everyone was eating except for two men on watch.

Norrington said to one of them, "I'm relieving you. Go enjoy your afternoon." Being a Lieutenant, the watchman actually trusted him and replied, "Thank you, Sir." I watched the man leave thinking to myself, No, please stay.

When Norrington and I were alone, he was pretending to be teaching me how to tie the life boats up. As he explained to me how to tie this special knot, I just sat there watching him.

"Okay, now it's your turn," he said, seemingly kindly enough.

I hopped off the edge again and went to grab the rope, when he dropped it.

"My mistake," he joked sarcastically, as we both watched it fall into the water.

"What'd you do that for?" I questioned.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you need that still?"

"Do you want me to get another rope Sir?" I asked, a bit annoyed that he did that on purpose.

He leaned over the edge even further. "No, look. You can still get it if you try." I looked over too, and noticed that the rope was beginning to sink into the water. Then, he pushed me, and I fell into the ocean.

Now, I could swim, but mot very well. When I hit the water and just kept sinking and sinking, I freaked out. I struggled and struggled, but I couldn't seem to figure out which way was up. Then, my arm bumped something. It was the rope! I grabbed it and used it to pull myself back to the surface. Still being chained, I found it difficult to climb up the ladder Norrington threw down for me, but it worked…eventually. I hopped back up on deck and tied the boat up exactly like he showed me.

As I pulled the last loop through, I said, "There you go, Sir. She's all tied up."

"Why didn't you run away?" He asked angrily.

"What?" I hadn't even thought of doing that…though it seemed like a good idea.

"Why didn't you run away?" He repeated, grabbing me.

"Why should I have?"

"Your master is always talking about how rebellious and disobedient you are. And, just between you and me, I'm just itching to get you on something. But there you are being a perfect little angel, like your master is the insane one."

"He is insane," I mumbled.

"I dare you. Do something, do anything. Just show me once, your real personality." Norrington shoved a dagger in my hands.

I just looked at it for a long time. What made him think I would do something with it? I really wanted to use it, to get everyone back for everything. However, all I had to think was, that's what Father would do, and I'd made up my mind.

"No thank you." I gave the knife back and walked to our room.

I had just sat down when Father came back from lunch. "Alas!" He exclaimed. "Have you told Norrington too?"

"No," I started to answer, but instead Norrington ran in the door, soaking wet, panting, and bloody.

"Your crazy slave," he interrupted, "is the worst child I have ever met!"

Father hadn't seen Norrington yet, so he smiled at me because I hadn't revealed "the secret."

As he turned to face Norrington, he jokingly asked, "Wesley, now what have you done to…Mr. Norrington!" You could tell when Father first saw him. Of course, right away Father got mad at me, but he loved violence, and pain, so he had difficulties controlling his pleasure. Not to mention, Norrington's self-centeredness was starting to annoy Father, so me hurting him a bit didn't bother Father that much.

"What happened to you?" Father managed to ask through his mixed emotions.

"Your damn slave happened to me! I turned around for one second, and when I looked back, Austin—the cook—and him were trying to escape!" He paused too long for emphasis—he needed to practice lying a bit more. I hadn't expected this at all, though.

"I hurried to stop them from releasing a lifeboat," he continued, "but they had knives! I had to fight Austin with my bare hands…" and he went on and on about fighting Austin. I zoned out. I thought, instead, about how insane the world really was. Everyone said this was a "Golden Age" with peace, prosperity, and potential. With people like Father and Norrington, I felt we would never get there.

"Okay," Father interrupted, "I really don't care about your 'brave' actions against Austin. I can't control Austin. What did Wesley do?"

"Well, by the time Austin was taken care of, your slave—"

"Wesley," Father corrected.

"Wesley," Norrington continued, confused, "was already on a lifeboat and about ready to row off. Despite being bloody exhausted, literally bleeding, and fairly beat up, I quite nobly jumped into the water—at great risk—and easily overcame and retrieved you dear slave Wesley." He said that part mockingly.

"Thank you, James, for making me aware of this. I shall handle it." Father replied, just to get him to go away.

Once Norrington was gone, Father turned to me, smiling, ad said, "Funny Wesley. Very funny. You've managed to get that stuck up, annoying, rich lad to leave us alone. I'm proud of you. However, you've done it wrongly. And so, as you have once more invoked my wrath, I have no choice but to punish you for it."

I'm not even sure if I knew what that meant, but I knew it was bad. And so it was. Father once again whipped me, this time twelve times. Sammuel was right. Relaxing did help. I felt the same after those twelve as I had after the first five. That night, long after Father had fallen asleep, I couldn't stop thinking about what Norrington had said. "Why didn't you run away?" kept repeating through my head.

"Why don't I run away?" I eventually asked myself. And so I did. I ran away. I snuck out of the room, across the deck, down a rope, and onto a lifeboat without being caught.

Suddenly, the urge came over me to shout, "So long Prince John!" It was meant in reference to the British prince—more like a tyrant—who reigned during the Crusades. I saluted toward the ship. Then, I turned around and put all my energy into rowing to Mother and Elizabeth's ship. Once I got there, I realized, they didn't have anything for me to climb up on. It made sense. They didn't have any lifeboats because they didn't want the slaves to be escaping. But now I couldn't get on the ship. I took one of the oars from my boat and repeatedly banged on the ship in hopes someone would hear me. Someone did.

A boy between 10 and 12 looked over the ship's edge and whispered, "Shut up!" then left. I was about ready to start banging again, thinking he abandoned me, when he came back with a rope. I grabbed on and climbed up as he pulled me up.

"Who are you? Where are you from? And why are you here?" He asked as soon as I was fully up.

"I need to find my sister," I replied, answering only the last question.

"That's real helpful. How can I tell you where your sister is if I don't know who you are?"

"I'm Wesley…"

He waited for more, then prompted, "No last name?"

"No last name," I repeated. "But my sister is Elizabeth. She's around your age—"

"Why she has a last name! Miss Swann, I know where she is. Follow me!" He ran off in a direction opposite where the entrance to the rooms was supposed to be.

"Where are you going?" I asked, trying to keep up with him.

He slid down a rope and into the water way below deck. "I know a shortcut," he called up to me, waiting for me to slide down too. I tried, but I let go too soon and fell on my butt. He laughed.

"Come on," he said, helping me up. Then, he realized that I was chained. He frowned for a while, contemplating why I would be, especially as Elizabeth's brother. Eventually he shrugged and handed me a key to something. "Here," he said and ran off again. I followed. All around us were more slaves and poor people. I felt sorry that they had to live in conditions like that. He led me through a door, and into a closet. I could tell he went there a lot to spy on my sister. He had a crush on her.

"Here you are," he whispered, opening the door into the room. I lit the candles in the room and knelt next to Elizabeth's bed.

"Elizabeth…Elizabeth," I whispered.

"What?" She moaned, waking up.

"You need to go."

"Where?"

"Father's ship."

"Why?" She asked, suddenly awake, out of bed, and ready to help.

"No," the boy mumbled, almost unnoticeably.

I began the seemingly endless, but not boring, story of what had just happened to me. (You don't need to hear it, you just saw it happen.) All the while, she slipped a dress on over her nightgown and the three of us made it back to the deck.

"So you're never coming back?" She asked finally.

"No."

"Never?"

"No, now go!"

"No, you can't go," the boy repeated just as she got down to the boat.

"What?" I asked, shocked.

"She can't go!"

"Just 'cause you like her." I untied the boat.

"No! It's not about that. That's the only lifeboat we have, you have to stop her."

"Why? I'm not going back."

"You have to. You and your mother because tomorrow this ship is going to be attacked by pirates. I like your family too much too—"

"Elizabeth!" I screamed, but by then it was too late.


	6. Chapter 6

I would like to give a special thanks to **they call me Keeran** for being the first to read my story. As for your review:

embarrassed smile creeps up on face Don't you hate it when that happens? When characters take over their own minds and don't do what you ask them to? With Norrington, I just needed him to do something that would make Wesley remember him forever. Maybe he grows up before he becomes Commadore. With Weatherby Swann, though, there actually is something in my story (coming up soon) that explains why he changes to the character we know him as in the movie.

WARNING--Coming up in this chapter: shocking will information.

Now, Chapter 6

* * *

I don't know if it was that boy's annoying story or the fact that I actually believed him that made me call to Elizabeth. However, as soon as I knew there was no hope of escape, I retorted, "I don't believe it."

"It's the truth," the boy said, so sure of himself.

"How would you know?"

"I know because I am William Turner, a pirate, and my ship is about to attack this ship."

"Yeah right, why would pirates attack a poor slave ship?"

"I'll show you!" Will exclaimed excitedly. Once again, he led me below deck—his way. This time, I succeeded with the rope. He took me over to the other side of the room. "Good morning Langston," he greeted as he stepped over a sleeping man in his way, "because it is morning now."

Finally, he came to what he was looking for. "This," he explained, pulling open a curtain to reveal a vault, "is why. When people move on boats, they move their money with them, obviously. They often times expect to be attacked by pirates, and don't want the pirates to get them **and** their money. So they hide the money on the poor slave ship."

"That still doesn't make you a pirate," I argued. "You could learn that just from reading stories. Where is your tattoo?"

"Don't got one. Don't need one. My whole job on the ship anyways is just to make sure people don't know I'm a pirate."

"Why are you telling me then?" I asked.

He thought for an awkward moment, then stated, "This aughtta assure you I'm a pirate: that key I gave you a minute ago…it'll open any lock you want it to, including your handcuffs."

I took the key out of my pocket and looked at it curiously as I repeated, "Why are you telling me this?" Will didn't answer again, but he did get a very embarrassed look on his face. "You like my sister?"

He nodded slightly, and I looked back to the key. Why not? What's the worst that could happen? The key wouldn't unlock my handcuffs. I figured it was worth a try, and sure enough, it did work.

Dropping the chains to the floor, I tried to hand the key back, saying, "Here. Thank you very much. I'll believe you—for now."

Will didn't take the key, though. "No, you keep it," he insisted, "I can get a new one easily."

"Thanks…I suppose." There was another short silence, before I remembered something. "Hey, since you're a pirate, have you ever heard of Jason?"

"Jason?" He questioned, wrinkling up his nose like he never had. "Jason who?"

"Jason, like the pirate." No change in expression. "He's killed like 300 bad guys." Just a blank stare. "I think I'll have to tell you about him."

So Will and I spent the rest of the night—which was really morning—telling stories about Jason, and about our lives. Somehow, we gradually made it back up on deck, where daylight crowded in on us. It was foggy, for the third day in a row. It had gotten so foggy that the ships could have been sailing in circles and we wouldn't have known. Will and I were the only two up. We were looking out into the fog when Mother tapped him on the back. He was surprised, so he jumped and screamed slightly.

"I'm sorry to disturb you two, but…" we turned to listen as she realized who I was. "Wesley! What are you doing here and where is your sister?"

"Oh, she went back to be with Father. We just decided to switch places is all, but you're never going to believe this!" I replied, making it seem less than it really was. Mother would never let me run away.

"What?" She asked, only half interested.

"Will, here, is a pirate, and he says this ship is to be attacked, by pirates!"

"You were right Wesley. I don't believe it."

Just as she said that, Will exclaimed, "Look! There she is!" He ran toward the back of the ship pointing at another that had appeared out of the fog next to us. It approached us, cannons readied. We were on a slave ship. There would be no fighting back. It was that day that I realized pirates were not just stupid people with scurvy and parrots who steal, pillage, and cuss. All of those were true—you know, otherwise Sammuel would have lied to me—but there was more to it.

Will waved to them, and I thought I could see a couple waving back. I started waving too, very excitedly, but Mother grabbed my arm ordering, "Don't Wesley. Don't encourage them."

It wasn't long before all the passengers on our ship were on deck. Everyone looked so helpless because there was nothing that they could do. After a short period of tension, the pirates shot the first round, blowing a large hole in our ship. I screamed with joy. Nothing could be more perfect.

The man in charge on the ship had no ideas whatsoever. After all, this wasn't a war ship or anything. His only suggestion was to run to the far side of the ship in hopes the hole would come out of the water, and we wouldn't sink. No one else knew any better, so everyone mobbed away. In the mess of it all, I searched for Will, but he had disappeared, and I didn't know where to.

"Look out!" One lady shouted. Everyone else screamed. The pirates were charging across to our ship! They even fought some brave men who dared to stand against them.

Then, from behind me, I heard my mother scream, "Let me go!" I quickly turned around. A pirate had swept down on a rope, grabbed her, and was swinging her back to his pirate ship. I started after him, but before I had even taken two steps, another swinging pirate grabbed me from out of nowhere.

It was amazing the difference between the two ships. The pirates were so much more organized. The man who was holding me dropped me perfectly into a triangle of three pirates—probably just a precaution in case they catch someone who tries to fight back, like Mother. I just stood there letting them handcuff me all over again, but Mother was making a fuss about it all.

"Get your dirty hands off me you freaks!" She shouted. At first, I just watched her because it was amusing, but then, I realized she was serious. I thought about what I could do to help. It didn't seem logical that a seven year old boy could help a full grown woman escape, especially when one of the pirates grabbed my arm and began leading me away. But I was almost eight. Now if I could only remember that word. _What was it that Sammuel told me?_ I asked myself. _That word you're supposed to say…It starts with a 'p.' Think._

"Parley!" I called out.

Everyone stopped on a dime. The pirate taking me away, the people messing with Mother, the pirates fighting on the other ship, and even the wind stopped blowing.

"What did you say?" A fourty-something year old man asked eerily after a long pause.

"Parley," I repeated, suddenly embarrassed and shy. "Mother, please say parley."

"I refuse to lower myself to the level of a pirate," she replied with disgust.

"Mother, please," I begged. The man got angry, and he began to get an evil frown because he knew he had to take me to the captain.

"Come on," the man commanded, grabbing me by the ear. He began to lead me off but paused by Mother. "So are you going to say it or not?"

My eyes begged her to. His eyes were just annoyed. This wasn't supposed to happen, especially with seven year old boys.

"Fine…parley."

"You're coming with me then," he said, pulling her along as well, but by the arm. He walked us to the captain's room. "Capt'n, we've a couple parley-ers among us," he announced. At that he left.

"Thank you Barbossa," the captain replied as his door slammed shut. The captain then mumbled to himself, "Bloody grumpy first mates." He was sitting in a large chair with one of his legs thrown over an arm rest. He was one large, but not too big, very dirty, male pirate with some sort of disgusting hair. Sound a bit familiar?

Well it didn't to me, until my mother cocked her head and asked, "Jack?"

"Myra!" He exclaimed in response. Jumping from the chair, he hugged her, and she let him.

"Mother?" I interrupted, very confused.

"Oh, Wesley," she remembered, turning to me but still holding Jack's hand, "this is a friend of mine."

"You? A pirate friend?"

"Jack Sparrow, captain of the Black Pearl," he introduced himself and reached out one dirty hand to shake mine.

"But that's impossible!" I exclaimed instead of shaking his back. "The Pearl doesn't exist. She's just a story."

"If it were impossible, then how could you be standing here I wonder?" He questioned. I smiled, big. He noticed how thrilled I was, so he squatted down and continued, "And you know she's been waitin' fer a sailor just like yerself."

I would love that SOooo much. My father would hate it, which could be why I thought I would love it. And Sammuel made it seem like so much fun. I glanced up at Mother to see what she thought, and I immediately had to look back to the floor. She would never let that happen; I could tell.

"I'd better not," I answered.

Jack stood back up and said to my mother, "You know this means I shall have to put you in the prison. It's required by the code."

"You're not required to do anything by the code," Mother shot back. "'Tis only a guideline."

"How did you know that?"

"Wesley told me."

Jack looked at me, proud that I would know so much. "And yet ye'd ban him from his dream?...Surely, if he knew that much, he'd also tell ye that it's a guideline that is strongly enforced, and a guideline that if followed could make me a lot of money. If he's not a pirate, you're not making me money. When you don't make me money, I have no use fer you, which means I want ye out of me way, or in the jail," Jack explained as he flirtatiously put her in handcuffs.

"Is that what our whole relationship is based upon? Money?" Mother asked. "In that case, I'd rather rot in prison."

"As ye wish, m'Lady." He walked to the door and whispered something to a very well built, black man. "I really wish I didn't have to do this," he told me, taking off his hat in salute as the black man led Mother and I away. The man led us across the ship, below deck, and into a jail cell.

"Mother," I started as soon as he had left, "what was that about?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she replied, sitting down on a pile of excess wood in the corner. She was disgusted by it, but still had to sit.

"But Mother. You lied to me. He was at your engagement party, wasn't he?"

"I really don't want to talk about it."

"But Mo—" She gave me the evil look. "All right," I conceded rolling my eyes. I leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. If she needed quiet to think about the last insane week, I could give it to her. We just sat there in silence, completely bored, until I remembered that I had a key.

I pulled the key out of my pocket and set my mind to unlocking myself. After probably a minute, I'd succeeded. As I stood up, Mother looked over and noticed me.

"What are you doing?" She questioned suspiciously.

"I'm going to ask Jack if he was at your party," I replied as I opened the door with the key, walked out, and locked Mother back in. She glared, and I smiled, loving Will's gift more and more every second. I wasn't really going to ask him; I just wanted out of there.

I walked out one entrance as a bunch of pirates brought down their collection of prisoners in another. I made it out just in time to not be noticed and to be able to sit on the edge of the ship for at least a couple minutes. It became where I went whenever I needed to think, just sitting there, staring at the endless ocean.

And of course, it didn't take long for a pirate to notice me and tell Jack. "Hey kid. Whatcha doin' out 'ere?" Is what the sentence Jack said sounded like to me. Perhaps the speech would be a bit difficult for me to get used to.

"I can't spend the rest of my life in the same room as my mother," I responded. "Especially not the way she's been acting this week."

"That is certainly understandable. In fact, that is the only reason you two are in jail. I have no chance of ever reasoning with you as long as she's around. She's like," he made some weird hand gesture that frightened me. "Anyhow, we're alone now." He straddled over the edge to sit with me. "Tell me, what do ye really think of the title Wesley 'the Pirate' Swann?"

I thought I'd sound really smart and quote the bible at him, replacing the word Christian with pirate. "You know that in a short time, you would persuade me to become a pirate." He didn't seem to recognize the quote, so I finished, "So don't try. My mother would never let me."

"That reasoning is so…" more gesturing, "backwards. Your mother doesn't have to know."

"Not know! Have you ever had a Mother? They always know. And how would I even hide something like **that**?"

He looked at my hands. He hadn't noticed before that I had gotten my hands unchained before too, and I don't think he liked it.

"Who let you go?" He demanded.

"Me," I answered.

"Without the keys?...Now that's the thing that makes a person a perfect pirate, but ye're not one yet. An' ye'll never be one if ye don't even know how to follow our rules."

"I'll never be one anyway, and I do have the key."

"You do! And yet ye got out by yerself? Someone gave them to you. Who gave them to you?" He seemed a bit confused. I didn't know then, but he didn't know about the special key. He was instead referring to the set of keys hanging across the hall from the cells.

"Will did. Why? Is there a problem with that?"

"Yes," was all he said. Then, we walked on in silence.

When we got back below deck, he looked up at the wall and saw that the keys were still in their original place—high above my head. He just put my handcuffs back on and locked me back in the cell.

Before he closed the door, however, he commanded, "Myra, I need to speak to you in private."

She came out; Jack closed the door and unlocked her hands. The other prisoners were mumbling among themselves about what was going on.

As soon as they got on deck, Mother asked, "How is this private?"

They started walking as Jack explained, "Nobody's up here. Right after any huge raid everybody goes into a room down below to divide up the spoil. They'll be there for hours arguing over who gets the ring and who gets the cup."

Mother laughed slightly. Then, they both stopped. While Jack was talking, they had started holding hands. They both pulled away.

"So what did you want to tell me about?" Mother asked after a second of quiet.

"Wesley."

"Was he bothering you? If he was, I'm sorry. I could have told him we met at the party."

"No," Jack stopped Mother and faced her. "It's not that."

"Don't even bring up pirates Jack. It's not going to happen." She realized that was what he was going to talk about and walked right past him."

"That's not something you can stop, Myra," Jack warned catching up with her.

"Why not?"

"If something is meant to happen, it will."

"I don't believe in destiny Jack."

"It's not destiny, Myra; it's life."

"Prove it, then. How do everybody's dreams always come true?" She turned to the edge and looked over the ocean, frustrated.

Jack walked up behind her and grabbed her around the waist. Referring to the ocean, he whispered, "You want adventure don't you?"

"Of course, Jack. Doesn't everybody?" Mother turned to face Jack.

"And you like me, don't ye?"

"I never said that!" Mother joked.

"So why exactly do ye think I keep showing up in yer life? We're bound to be together. It's the same with Wesley. Everything is pointing him in this direction. And even if ye could stop it this time, pirates are going to keep popping up all his life."

"Well let me delay it as much as possible, then." She got out of Jack's grip. After a long pause, Mother continued, "I only want him to grow up civilized, to realize not everyone is like his father."

"Myra—" Jack began, trying to think of something encouraging to say, but then he saw Will's father—Bootstrap—along with the rest of the pirates. "Would you excuse me for a moment? I need to speak to someone. It shall only take a moment."

"Go on," Mother agreed. She was trying not to cry and would enjoy a few seconds alone.

"Bootstrap," Jack called, catching up to him. "I need to speak to you."

"'Bout what?" Bootstrap asked.

"In my room." They slipped into Jack's office and shut the door.

"This is important, isn't it?" Bootstrap realized.

"Your son is causing trouble again."

"What did he do this time?"

"Releasing prisoners…still. Now the kid he let go this time…is all right. I like 'im, but I can't keep hiding this from the rest of the crew. If they find out, someone'll get hurt."

"Of course, Sir. I'll take care of it, Sir."

"Bill…there's just ye an' me in here. You don't have to be so…formal." Jack patted his back and walked toward the door. "And, it doesn't have to be immediate, just soon, savvy?"

"Don't worry Jack. I'll take care of it."

"You always do."

At that, Jack walked back out to Mother. As soon as she saw him, she threw her arm around his neck and bawled, "I can't do it anymore. I can't even keep Wesley in his cell, for heaven's sake, much less stop him from becoming a pirate!"

Jack smiled; she couldn't see him, but he was happy. That was the exact response he had hoped for. He had to act consoling, though, so he rubbed her back gently.

"It's all right Myra," he comforted, "Don't cry. We'll bring him up respectably."

Meanwhile, back in the prison, I had been trying to sleep. All of a sudden, Will came out from a room at the end of the hall. He stopped in front of my cell, shocked to see me still in there.

"Wesley, what are you doing?" He asked. "I thought by now you'd be out of here. Did you forget about the key?"

"No Will—" I started.

He interrupted, though. "Here, let me get you out." He reached up for the keys Jack had been talking about.

"No Will—"

"Don't you want out?"

"Yes, but—"

"Your mom won't let you?" Would he just stop interrupting me?

"No, Will, stop. I have been out. It was great, but I got caught. You're already in trouble for it. Jack told me not to do it anymore, so I won't."

"You spoke to the captain?" Will asked, a bit surprised.

"Yes, and he made it sound very bad if I didn't obey."

"Oh, nonsense. If the captain spoke to you, it means he wants you to be a pirate!"

"So?" I knew that already.

"Jack would never hurt a prospective pirate. And anyhow, it's not like he'll find out," he said, unlocking the door.

I couldn't resist. Sitting in the cell was no fun, so I walked out. I once again fumbled with trying to unlock my hands. Will laughed for a while, and then he just did it for me.

"So, what are we going to do?" I inquired.

"I dunno," he shrugged, "talk."

I sat down on the floor. "Just sitting here is no better than just sitting in there."

"I know," he admitted. A moment later he pulled a small bag from his pocket and dumped two balls out of it. Moving them around in his hand, he continued, "I'll think of something."

I sat there, watching the two balls move around in his hand. Will started whistling.

"What are those?" I questioned after a while.

"What? These?" He held the balls out. One was black, designed after the pirate's flag, and the other was white, not designed at all. "Watch!" He exclaimed, his eyes lighting up as he threw one forcefully against the floor.

Once it hit the floor, it went crazy! It bounced up and hit the ceiling; it bounced against the walls. I had to duck so it wouldn't hit me. The people in one jail cell parted to let it through. Then, Will just caught it.

"Wow! How does that work? Can I try?"

"Sure." He handed me the white one.

My first try wasn't a success. It came back and hit me in the face, but it wasn't too long before I was just as good as Will at catching them. We played for a few minutes. The last time, I had to jump to keep the ball from going into a jail cell. I caught it in the nick of time and landed perfectly.

As I walked back to will, he clapped a little and said, "Good job! Now, are you ready for the next one? Okay. One…two…three!"

We both threw ours, and I chased after mine in the direction of the entrance. Right as I made it to the entrance, a pirate came in. I ran into him, and he caught the ball. I looked up at him, and he looked down at me. He was the same man who had swung me onto the ship.

"William," he called angrily across the room, and walking right past me. "How many times do I have to tell you to not let the prisoners out? Captain Sparrow has noticed it and is very displeased. He can't give you anymore chances because if the crew finds out, there will be a mutiny. Do you understand? He has no choice but to punish you…" That last part began to fade off because the pirate had grabbed Will and walked out the other entrance. I decided to follow at a safe distance. By the time I started to pick up on the conversation again, I had already missed most of the explanation.

"You have to leave this ship immediately," he commanded, taking the bag from Will and stuffing the balls back in. "There's a ship not too far ahead of us. Go to Port Royal on it, and stay there. Take this," he pulled a large piece of gold from his pocket with a pirate sign on it.

"Why?" Will asked, looking at it a little strangely.

"It's a gift from your father. Keep it so that one day he'll be able to find you with it." He grabbed on of those wooden plate things for Will to sit on. "Now take this and go."

Will looked so confused, but he obeyed anyway. I stood there at a distance watching as Will floated away and realized this was kind of my fault.

After a moment, the pirate muttered to himself, "Crap, I'm late for another bloody meeting."

"What'd you have to do that for?" I asked purposefully getting in his way.

"Do what?" He demanded sounding aggravated.

"Will didn't deserve that! He didn't let me out anyway; I let myself out. And who cares if this isn't the first time, you still had no right to be enforcing punishment without the…" pause to think of a big word, "consent of the captain." That made me feel really smart.

"Well boy, not only was I under order by the captain to do this, but even more so, I'm William's father. I had every right to punish him."

"Not if he didn't do anything wrong."

"Well that you'll have to take up with the captain," he concluded, walking toward Jack's room.

"Fine. That's what I'll do," I decided, following him.


	7. Chapter 7

A little message to me readers:

**Cass of the east** thank ye fer readin' I be glad ye like it.

**they call me KEERAN **There is a reason Will is that way--though it be a long time 'fore anyone figures that one out. And what ye said 'bout your character that turned into Jack Sparrow (Captain), I find the same to be true often. It seems I can ne'er make Jack act like Jack, but I certainly can make Wesley act like Jack. :) Anyhoo, I be glad ye like it. 

Now, fer the chapter...

* * *

Just after I ran out one entrance to below deck, Jack and Mother came in the other. "I'm sorry I have to leave you here for a while," Jack said. "I have an important meeting I have to attend. But ye kin talk to Wesley…" Then, they arrived at our cell, and I was not there. "Who's not here," he sighed. "Bloody…rum muffins." He had almost begun shouting, or cussing, one or the other, but then he remembered he was in the presence of a lady and changed his mind.

They kissed quickly. "It'll only be a little while, I promise," Jack assured as he locked her back in our cell. Immediately afterwards, he rushed off to the meeting. I saw him hurry into his cabin, but he didn't see me. Not too far behind him was Will's Father. When I got to the room, however, two pirates stood in front of me.

"Whaz the password?" The one on the left asked me in a very strong British accent.

I took a step back, shocked by his grammar, and then guessed, "Let me in there."

"Nope."

"Please?" He shook his head. "Password."

"Let me think," he delayed sarcastically, "no!"

"The Pearl…it's cursed…no curse. Tell me what it is!" I demanded, anxious to get in.

"Quiet Pinters!" The other pirate said with more of an Australian accent. "I's tryin' ta listen." He put his ear back against the door.

"Ragetti," Pinters—really Pintel—slapped him. "Yur not s'posse'ta be spyin; on the Capt'n." (I hope I spelled that write, but that is kind of what it sounded like. I didn't think it was possible for me to speak that bad.)

Then Pintel and Ragetti got in an argument, and I just watched. It was amusing, but I really wanted in the room. They didn't appear to be stopping any time soon, and my mind quickly drifted off to my sister. _How is she doing?_ I wondered. Here is how she was doing: Father had been pretty mad that I'd left, but there were other things to worry about—like the fog. He was liking that Norrington again because he was proving himself to be a good Lieutenant in dealing absolutely wonderfully with the fog. Why was it that the good leaders were never the good people?

Then the whole thing with Will. He actually did make it to their ship, and Elizabeth found him. Of all the people to be in charge of his care, it was her, an eleven year old with no medical knowledge at all. And what did she do about it? Steal the only thing he has to remember his father by when she should be worrying about Mother and my ship that just got blown up like everyone else was. Father, of course, was perfectly worried about it—or perhaps more "considerably concerned." After all, Mother had been on that ship. I was too, but that didn't bother him. He was kind of praying that I had died.

Finally, the two pirates were finished arguing and I could guess some more. None of it was working. How was I supposed to guess the password anyways? They hadn't given me any clues.

I eventually just gave up and said, "Parley."

"No, thas not it either," Pintel replied.

"I didn't mean that as a password. You are automatically required to take me to the captain when I say that."

"We do?" Ragetti asked. "Wow, I jus' bloo'y learned somethin'."

"I ain't gotta do notin' but die," Pintel answered stubbornly, "an' I can't even do that."

"Well I can't figure out what your password it. That's impossible."

"What password?" Ragetti asked. "There's no password."

"There's no password!" I was shocked and angry.

"Nope" Pintel answered like it didn't matter at all. "But it was nice to get to know ye." At that, he stepped out of the way, and I stormed into the room.

As I did, everyone in the meeting looked up. Jack was sitting in his chair the same way as last time, and he had been snacking on grapes. The other eight were scattered about the room. Included in them were Will's father and Barbossa. I just stood there, staring at them, and them at me. Then Barbossa rolled his eyes. Will's father hung and shook his head in disapproval.

"Well," Jack prompted, putting his grapes down in a bowl, "are you going to say something or just stand there interrupting our discussion?"

"Jack," I started, taking a step forward.

"Captain Jack," he corrected.

"Captain Jack, I need to speak to you about something." I tried to remain composed.

"Can't it wait?...This is very important."

"No it can't. In fact, your discussion…group might be interested in such an important topic." I glared at Captain Jack.

He stood up, "No Wesley. Will did something wrong. He deserved to be punished."

"But you threw him off in the middle of the cold ocean."

Jack glanced at Will's father curiously, then replied, "I said he deserved it."

"He didn't let me out," I practically lied.

"But the keys." He frowned.

"No, not the keys; the key. One key!" I took it out of my pocket bowed my head, "I stole it from him, on the other ship. It was to save my sister…I'm sorry. I let myself out." It was hard for me to lie like that.

Jack waited for a while before he answered, "Nonetheless, Will had done four or five other things to incur this upon himself." The eight others mumbled about the 'four or five.'

"Four!" I shouted, "My Father has to make it to seven before he can do anything serious and he is considered compulsively abusive!"

"Wesley, we have our own set of rules here. Rules I can't defy as the captain. You of all people should know—the code."

"The code? I thought that was a guideline."

"Well, you certainly don't treat it like one. Three offenses is considered biased; five could cause a mutiny. I have to think of the good of the crew." I didn't say anything back to that. He had made me think.

Then turning to everyone else, he sighed, "This meeting is over. I no longer remember what I wanted to talk about." I could tell he was lying. As the group began to leave, he ordered, "Bootstrap, stay after."

Will's father obeyed. I tried not to laugh. He was named after a piece of footwear.

"What is it Jack?" Bootstrap asked after the seven had left.

"Why doesn't he have to call you captain?" I demanded immediately.

"You know what kid, I like you, but you're starting to get on my nerves," Jack responded, getting up close in my face. "He doesn't have to call me captain because he's my friend, and we're the same age." Then, he turned to Bootstrap. "'Not now,' I said, 'Not now.' That means next time we get to port, when we get into the Caribbean. NOT NOW!" He put his head in his hands and slumped back into his chair.

"I was going to just tell Will what you said, but I found him playing ball with this boy," Bootstrap explained. "I thought Will had let him out **again**, that it made things more urgent. At least now I know he's on a ship, and he's going to stay in Port Royal, Jamaica."

"We were going to attack that ship next!" Jack closed his eyes. "I'm sorry. Just next time, tell me before my prisoner does. It was hard defending you."

"You're right Jack."

"I always am. Now get outta here."

When he left, I frowned at Jack. "Are you going to keep his side?"

"You're forgettin' somethin' kid. You're not a pirate yet, an' you're seven—"

"Almost eight!" I corrected.

"Making you angry is a whole lot less threatening than makin' the rest o' this bloody crew angry…Of course we do need someone to replace him."

"No! How could you even ask something like that?"

"Go home then. Scurry off back to ye dirty li'l cell an' send ye mother up here." I just glared at Jack. I was angry, and he knew it. After a while, he repeated, "Go!"

I obeyed, muttering, "Yes, Sir," as I left. I stopped in front of our cell for a while. I really didn't want to go in, but I did anyhow. Mother had been crying; I could tell. In fact, she was still crying, curled up in the back of the cell.

"What's wrong?" I asked sitting down next to her.

All she ever needed to do was talk, even if no one could understand her, so I let her blabber on about something, while I unlocked her. She suddenly looked up and inquired, "Why'd you do that?" She sniffled.

"Jack wants to see you."

"What?" She stood up quickly. "Like this?" Her dress was filthy, her hair a mess, and her make-up was smeared.

I smiled, "I think he does."

She wiped her eyes, much happier now, and left. At least he was making someone happy. I just sat down, wishing I had a book.

"Jack, you wanted to see me?" Mother asked, knocking on his open door.

"Aye," he replied, finally looking up from the bottle of rum he had been drinking. Holding it out to her, he continued, "Would ye like some rum?"

"No thank you."

"All right then." Jack took a big swig. "Your loss. There's something important I need to tell you."

"About Wesley?"

"No." He thought for a second longer and then stood up. "About us…I know we haven't been knowin' each other for very long, only a day. Well two days if ye count eight years ago. Or then we could say, eight years." He was delaying it. "An' I know you're married, and I'm a pirate, and—well—you're not…but…" he took another swig. "Come with me."

He grabbed the bottle in one hand and her hand in the other, and he ran onto the deck. She willingly followed, laughing, because she knew what he was going to say. Then, he stopped and faced her.

"An' I know we're very different, I mean, ye don't even like rum, but—"

"Give me that!" Mother demanded, ripping the rum from Jack's hand. She was willing to change in any way necessary to make Jack happy. She filled her mouth with rum and, disgusted by the flavor, just held it there trying not to spit it out. Jack laughed, which made her laugh. It was all she could do to swallow the mouthful.

"Myra…I like you…a lot," he said after a second.

"I know," she responded. "I like you too."

Jack got down on one knee. "Myra, I love you, and I want you to…" he pulled a huge ring from his pocket.

Mother gasped. Even though she expected it, it was still shocking, and the ring was gorgeous—to die for. It was at least better than the one she had then. She laughed at herself, at the thought of liking a pirate. _Is this really what love is like?_ She asked herself. Love, the thought sounded wonderful. She didn't know what to say.

Jack knelt there, praying she'd say yes, embarrassed to death. He was relieved when she smiled, confused when she laughed, and then she looked scared. A wave of horror came over her face, and she just stared, wide eyed behind him.

"What is it?" Jack questioned, standing up.

She didn't reply, so he turned around. There was Barbossa—his first mate—standing behind Jack, looking very angry, and without giving Jack a moment to think, POW! Barbossa punched him hard across the face. Being drunk, Jack quickly lost his balance. Mother leapt forward, screaming, perhaps to catch him, perhaps because she couldn't think of anything else to do.

However, another pirate grabbed Mother from behind, covered her mouth, and whispered, "Don't say a werd." He was way too close for comfort.

Barbossa picked Jack up by the collar of his shirt, pointed his pistol at the Jack's jaw, and turned toward the edge of the ship. "Does that island look familiar to ye at all Jack? That god forsaken spit of land ye told us all was where the treasure of Cortes lay"

Jack just looked away, pretending to not have the slightest idea what Barbossa was talking about, so Mother, finally getting the pirate's hand off her mouth, stated, "I highly doubt it's God forsaken."

"Oh it's been forsaken all right, hasn't it Jack? Remember the last time we were there?"

"What? Are there man eating snakes, or something? Do you really think I would believe such things after the stories Wesley has told me?"

"No, there is absolutely nothing on that blasted island, an' we was there fer three days an' nights in that blastin' heat diggin' up holes, searchin' fer Jack's beloved Aztec gold. We ain't found nothin' there but sand an' a dozen trees."

"And rum," Jack mentioned, finally entering his own conversation. "There was plenty of rum to keep the whole crew happy while we were there. Plus, the gold was your idea. We wouldn't have been there if it hadn't been you who thought it be our last capt'n's last wish."

"Aye, but it was you who was certain your Jamaican wench knew where to find said gold."

"Tia Dalma knew exactly where the treasure was. The **only** complication came when you insisted it were only fair if you knew where it was as well. What kind of capt'n would I be if I trusted you with that information? You're a bloody pirate!"

"According to the code, everything's an equal share. That would include the location of the treasure, would it not Scarus?"

The pirate holding Mother got extra close, rubbing his cheek on hers, and muttered, "Aye, equal."

Jack looked back and forth between Barbossa and the two others. He broke free of Barbossa's grip but didn't try to run away. Apparently, he just wanted to have gesturing space for when he asked, "An' what sort of motivation does this give me? Is your mutinous threat supposed to prompt me to trust ye?"

"Consider it a warning of sorts, that ye're not serving our best interests as Capt'n by leading us around on yer wild adventures. They bring us nothing, Jack, an' the crew is hungry for redemption."

"Fine, then, if we're laying our cards on the table, we already have it."

"What?" Barbossa asked, seeming very confused.

"The gold. Yer lads Kohler an' Simbakka brought it on board some time ago. Some of the crew have already taken their fill of the 882 pieces. 'Tis your loss, ye never asked what was in the chest."

"And the curse?"

"No sign of it yet…unless," Jack pulled out his sword and touched it to Barbossa's throat, "losing me first mate to the sea will be the first sign of it."

"You wouldn't dare," Barbossa supposed.

"Mutiny is mutiny Barbossa. Just because ye don't succeed, doesn't mean ye shouldn't be punished."

"It's you or me Jack," Barbossa decided, pulling his sword as well. A fight quickly commenced.

"Ye shan't have me ship that easily!"

"I won't stop 'til I do."

Now, Jack was drunk. He and Barbossa had grown up together, and learned to fight at the same time, via the same man. Their skills were normally at the same level: expert. Imagine, expert fighting drunk expert. That was this battle, and it wasn't very long before Barbossa knocked Jack's sword away.

"I surrender!" Jack said immediately, throwing his hands in the air.

"Well, then." Barbossa gestured Scarus to come over. "I believe this is your pistol. Scarus so kindly loaded it for ye with one shot. Have fun on that god forsaken spit of land, Governor Sparrow."

Jack snatched the pistol from Scarus protectively. Then, he backed away from the situation. It didn't take him long to reach the edge of the ship and climb onto it. Before jumping off, though, he mentioned, "I promise you, this will not be the last you hear of Captain Jack Sparrow," and then he was gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**They call me Keeran** You liked my mutiny? Thank you very much. I actually had to redo the entire thing. You see where I am in writing the story, Wesley is 15, not 7 almost eight! So it was actually a long time ago that I wrote this part of the story, and now I have to go back and type it. I'm realizing just how much my writing has improved since then, and typing it is very difficult because I have to majorly edit a lot of parts. My mutiny scene I litterally threw together in about thirty minutes just before I uploaded it to here. I definately have a better connection with the characters now than I did then. "Either way, you're not good enough." and "You know, you're right Jack. That's exactly what I was thinking." don't really sound like Barbossa phrases. :)

Now, for the good part...Chapter 8

* * *

I was a good boy that time. I actually spent the whole time in my cell carving a piece of wood with a rock, both of which I found lying around. Amazing, isn't it? Then, I heard the door at the end of the hall open. Two guards were bringing Mother back in. She was crying again—harder. I hated to see her so sad. Quickly, I scurried to my feet and met her at the front of the cell.

"Mom, what's wrong?" I asked as soon as they opened the cell door and pushed her in.

She ran to me, fell to her knees, and threw her arms around me, bawling an explanation. I couldn't understand a word; I don't even know why I kept asking.

The younger of the two guards in the hallway mumbled, "Ye sure thas the lad Barbossa told us ta get?"

The other replied, "He said he wanted the boy thas alone in 'is cell. I ain't seein' another." He was older, and apparently more used to following orders without asking questions.

"But ye can't make that a pirate! 'e's so li'l, an' harmless." (I think that was "He's so little.").

"Harmless?" A man from the next cell over interrupted. "You obviously haven't met him yet. The little trouble maker."

I was listening to all of that and decided to jump in. "You talkin' 'bout me?" I questioned, trying to sound bigger and bad-er than I was as I slipped out of my mother's grip.

"Aye," the older one responded. "We have been sent here by Barbossa to ask if you are ready to be a pirate."

"NO!" I shouted almost before they had finished asking. How many bloody times would I have to tell them that?

"Wesley," Mother muttered, covering her mouth.

"Are you sure 'bout that?" He continued. "We've been ordered to flog ye, given ye'd say that."

"Wesley," Mother repeated, now trying to get my attention.

I ignored her, mocking, "By Barbossa? That changes nothing." He wasn't the captain. What could he do?

"Wesley!"

"All right then," the older man decided, grabbing me by the arm.

"Don't say—" Mother began.

"Parley," I demanded, expecting to see Jack. Of course, it wasn't until after I found out that I realized what Mother had been trying to do. Look at me, getting ahead of myself. We're not there yet. The two of them drug me away to Jack's cabin.

Barbossa was the only one in there, and he questioned, "Why are you bringing him here, you good for nothing--?" Then he stopped suddenly.

"He said 'Parley,'" the older one answered after Barbossa shut up.

"And," I broke in, "I expect to see Jack. **He's** the captain."

"Not any longer," Barbossa boasted. "Jack has left for good, and left me as captain."

Yeah, that was when it all made sense, even why she was crying. He really would flog me, I think.

"Why?" I asked after a second. It couldn't hurt to ask.

"That's of no consequence. All that matters is that I am captain, and I am ordering you to join our crew."

"I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request!" I shouted. It was a bit stumbled, but I was proud to have used such big words.

Barbossa frowned just long enough for me to tell I'd confused him for a second, but he quickly regained his composure saying, "You too would defy my commands? If I were any crueler, I'd have you killed for that."

"I am a prisoner. That is what pirates do to prisoners. I am willing to deal with that. I will not rebel against the British government and His Majesty the King." That was a big lie. I wasn't ready to die, I could care less about His Majesty the King, and I was only saying no because of my **mother**.

"If you wish…that is the way it will be." He gestured to the older pirate who immediately came close enough for Barbossa to whisper something to him. Then, the older pirate led me away.

I didn't want to get up the next morning. My head hurt, my back hurt, and I was laying in a hay stack. The room—if you could call it that—was dark. I felt like I was going to get seasick. I didn't remember being in that room. "How did I get here?" I asked, but I was all alone. I thought back to the night before. Just thinking about it made my back ache. Their whip was better than Father's, that was for sure. I'd passed out. I couldn't remember anything after that. I sat up.

Just as I did, two other pirates walked in the door. Did they always travel in twos? I'd seen these two before, though. They were Pintel and Ragetti, or was it Rotell and Spaghetti? Oh well.

"Happy birthday!" The both of them shouted excitedly.

Oh yeah, it was that wasn't it? I was…eight. It didn't feel any different. Well actually, it did. It felt worse, but I don't think that counts.

"Boy 've we got a surprise fer you kid!" Pintel continued.

"Are ye gonna tell 'im what it is?" Ragetti asked. "I sure love surprises."

"Of course I'm gonna tell 'im," Pintel assured, grabbing one of my hands. He paused for Ragetti to grab the other, and they helped me to my feet with Pintel explaining, "You're gonna be a pirate!"

"What?" I did not want anymore of that whip. I wouldn't let them take me.

"Didn't ye expect this at all?" Pintel inquired. "Yer initiation party, I mean."

"A party?" I frowned, remembering Father's definition for discussion.

"Come o' now. Don' be shy," Ragetti comforted, pushing me out the door.

I stood just outside the door—which turned out to be on deck. There was a party going on, in a very pirate-y way with drinks and all. They looked insane, and they probably were.

Bootstrap appeared next to me and said, "Hey there you are. We've been looking for you." Boy he was acting really nice. I guess he didn't know I hated him. He started walking away into the crowd, and I decided I could follow him because he was still trying to talk to me. "I'm so glad you made this decision. Jack would be—"

"Made this decision," I repeated, "Mister Turner, I said no."

He seemed slightly shocked for a second before he tried to make sure he had heard correctly. "You did?"

I just nodded my head.

"Then what are we here for?"

I shrugged. "I planned on asking you."

Frowning, he kept walking, barging through the crowd with enough purpose to gather everyone else's attention. They eventually formed a sort of circle around Bootstrap, Barbossa, and I.

"He can't be a pirate," Bootstrap began in a hushed tone. "He hasn't signed the Articles yet."

"I thought that after our discussion last night, I'd give the lad another chance to agree," Barbossa explained. Then, he looked to me. "Can ye make yer mark?"

_Oh, yeah,_ I thought, _So now everyone calls **that** a discussion_. But instead of saying that, I replied, "I can…but I won't." Every minute I was hating myself more and more for that. Why was I obeying so well now?

A mumble spread throughout the crowd, and Barbossa asked, "So you enjoyed last night, then, did ye?"

"No," I said slowly.

"Then, I suggest you give in."

"Never!"

Barbossa grabbed my hand and slammed it down on a nearby crate. I was forced down to my knees, as was he, and someone chained my hand down. My first thought was that they were going to cut my fingers off. Immediately, I reached for my key. I couldn't let that happen.

"There is one thing that ye really need to learn kid," Barbossa warned. I reached my other hand to the crate, pretending I was trying to force my hand out of the cuff. I was really just getting my key up there, and I didn't want to look suspicious. "And that is how long is too long. Ye need to learn when to give up."

"I will **never** give up!" I shouted, jumping up to my feet, completely free.

That is, only until Barbossa also stood up and pointed his gun at me. I was scared, for good reason. I didn't know anybody who had survived that. I lifted my arms in surrender, wishing I could cry. Barbossa clicked his tongue disapprovingly at me as he took away the key that was still in my hand.

"I knew ye'd warm up to me eventually. Now sit down." Of course, I obeyed, instantly sitting on the crate. I couldn't believe I was about to be forced at gunpoint to do something I wanted to do in the first place.

"George," Barbossa said, beckoning a pirate that was standing not too far away.

"But…" George replied, pointing at me with a frown on his face. He was tall, thin, and dark haired. He was probably also the only pirate still dressed in traditional European clothing, and relatively clean at that. He actually kind of still looked presentable.

Barbossa turned his pistol to George. "Don't start," he stated with a threatening tone.

George slightly rolled his eyes and sighed quietly before kneeling beside me. I was getting closer and closer to crying, but I was eventually able to ask as he rolled up his sleeves, "George…what are you doing?" I was still thinking about losing my fingers.

Trying to make things as easy as possible for me, he whispered cheerfully, "We're going to give you a tattoo." He got out a bunch of tools for something as simple sounding as that.

I managed a little smile. At least I would keep my fingers. That didn't mean I was happy about this. Why would I want to serve under Barbossa anyways? And I was still recovering from the whole gun thing.

"You mean like the one you have on your wrist?" I questioned after a second. I wanted to be perfectly sure nothing unexpected would happen.

"Exactly like that. You're a very smart little boy. Now give me your hand."

"I'm not little," I insisted. "And why is yours on your left hand?"

"Well, I'm left handed. That's why I'm a pirate. Of course, you…a boy like you wouldn't be, would you?"

I nodded, "I am."

"Well, one left hand Swann coming up then," he joked, picking up what looked like a really sharp pen dipped in ink. He touched it to my arm, and it stung. Who would have thought drawing on yourself would hurt? It still didn't hurt worse than the night before. I just sat there, letting my dream come true in the most depressing of ways, and it seemed George and I had some special connection. After all, from that point, we were both people running away from society but trying to cling to bits and pieces of it.

Slowly, gradually, Barbossa lowered his gun, until it was finally done. "Now, Pirate Swann," he began, putting his pistol back in its holster, "will you sign the Articles, or must we continue the coercion?" He placed a list of rules in front of me, and I quickly scanned through them. I recognized most of them, and the ones I didn't recognize seemed reasonable, so I did it. I signed it, officially making myself a pirate of the Black Pearl.

"Welcome kid," Barbossa finished, sounding an awful lot nicer now. I smiled, but the urge to cry was still there.

Ragetti, trying to make me feel better, called out, "Three cheers for Wesley." The crew cheered, "Hip-hip-hooray," and then they all dispersed as if nothing at all had happened.

"Now tell us," Bootstrap demanded as soon as they were gone, "how much do you know about swords?" He pulled his from its sheath and handed it to me.

I looked at it for a while before stabbing its point into the floor and leaning on the handle—it was almost as tall at me—and replying, "The pointy end goes in the other person." I could have just said "not much," or "nothing really," but I thought it would be fun to imitate a stupid man's Spanish accent that Sammuel taught me.

"What did you say?" Bootstrap gave a suspicious glance to Barbossa.

I assumed—always a bad thing to do—that he hadn't liked what I'd said, so I changed it to, "I really know nothing at all."

"No, what did you say?" Barbossa repeated, realizing what Bootstrap was actually getting at. I repeated what I said the first time, accent and all. Barbossa and Bootstrap turned to each other and started mumbling things to each other.

"Should we?...It might work…But what if it doesn't?...What would the others think?...It's unheard of…It just hasn't been proven yet…The deception!...That never stopped us before…He's barely even a pirate…It's dishonorable…All the better. Let's do it!" Although, both had made some good points for each side, Barbossa seemed to like the idea more than Bootstrap did.

"Do what?" I asked, suddenly feeling left out of my own life. If this was too outlandish for Bootstrap, how would I know if I wanted to do this or not?

"If you want to be a pirate," Barbossa explained, "you will have to know how to use a sword. There be a class starting the day after the 'morrow on Tortuga—"

"Tortuga?" I questioned. Sammuel had mentioned that place once, but I had thought it was made up. Real cities weren't like that.

"The ultimate pirate haven," Barbossa continued. "Where you can learn everything there is to know about being a pirate without having to worry about anyone finding out. An' after a year, you'll be better than most of the men here." Somehow, I didn't think that was the only thing him and Bootstrap had talked about.

"A year…that's an awfully long time to," I couldn't think of anything a year would be a long time for. It just seemed like a long time. Then, I remembered, "to be gone from Mother." What was she going to think?

"To speak of the Devil," Bootstrap realized, "you'd probably like to go tell her, wouldn't ye?"

I shook my head no. That wouldn't be good, but before I could protest verbally, Barbossa was leading me down the stairs to her. As we went, he kept explaining more of what my "education" would be. We had met 'discussions;' we had experience 'parties;' what on Earth would 'education' be? I was only half-way listening, though. The rest of me was trying to figure out what to tell my mother.

He continued, "…and when ye get there, don't speak to anyone, hear that? Anyone until ye get to the school."

"Right anyone…I mean, not anyone."

Then, we got there. The other prisoners moaned and grumbled, and I even heard one say, "Not again!" Mother came to the gate crying—I'm not sure whether it was again or still, or over Jack or me, or both, or neither, but she was crying—and through it all, the only thing I caught was, "Are you all right?"

I unlocked her as I responded, "Yeah, I'm fine," in a confused, happy, sad way.

"What are you doing?" She asked when the door opened, and I didn't go in.

"You're free Mother." She just stood there, understanding there was more to it than just that. I tried to avoid the real answer, saying instead, "You know, like you don't have to spend the rest of your life sleeping, eating, and drinking in this dirty cell. You can change your dress, wipe your face, and reapply your make-up. You could—"

"How?" She interrupted.

"I pulled a few strings," I said, hoping she wouldn't ask for more. She did, so I tried to get the courage to say, "I…Mamma,"

Then Barbossa broke in. "Your son's a pirate," he stated bluntly.

I closed my eyes. Based on the mood she had been in lately, I figured she would go berserk. Instead, she simply took a few steps out of the door and said, "That's great."

That was it? She was happy? I looked at Barbossa. He seemed surprised as well. I had endured twelve strokes…a gun threat…annoying threats…and she was happy. I hate girls.


	9. Chapter 9

Just for your information:

This chapter may be a little confusing without the wonderful explanation of the whole thing in the next chapter. Please do not get confused. Danny will explain it all, after they dig up the treasure under the school.

* * *

The next morning, I sat on a small boat being rowed to the shore of Tortuga. The men so kindly accompanying me were Bootstrap and George, with Pintel and Ragetti rowing. As we approached the island, I noticed that it was hilly, small, and forested. I was having difficulties imagining a bunch of pirates living there, or it being anything like the way Sammuel had described it.

"That's Tortuga?" I asked, just to be sure.

"Yep, an' ain't she beautiful," Ragetti replied, but as he gestured, he dropped his oar in the water. He scrambled to pick it up.

"Where are all the pirates? Are they hiding?"

"No," George laughed, "you just have to make it over the hill first."

"Oh." It was a second before I had another question. "Are you guys going to come with me?"

"No," Bootstrap responded bluntly, and firmly.

"You mean I have to spend a whole entire year in a city overflowing with pirates, all by myself!"

"Come on, it won't be that bad," George comforted. "At least you won't be alone on the island for one year."

I thought about that conversation as I reached the top of the hill. I looked down at the city and repeated, "It doesn't look that bad." It really didn't look bad. Tortuga looked just like any other city during business hours. I walked down towards it, but the closer I got, the more I realized this was not a normal city. First of all, no one was working. They were doing whatever they pleased. Men were drunk on top of roofs. **Women** were shooting pistols randomly into the air. People were dancing to the weirdest music I'd ever heard. Maybe it was a bit more like what Sammuel had said.

Then, a ragged, skinny, old guy with long hair ran up to me screaming, "We're standing on top of a live volcano that's about to blow! We've got to go!" Then, he ran off, out of the city.

I laughed at him for a second—poor guy—and then pulled out of my pocket the map to the school that Barbossa had given me. I quickly figured out that I was on Rum Avenue. On Ale Street, I would have to turn right, and the school should be on the corner of Ale and Whiskey. I laughed again and kept walking. As I walked further into the crowd, a group of people walking the other direction brushed by me rudely, kind of pushing me to the side. There, a merchant-looking man in a black coat snuck up behind me. He then jumped in front of me, holding his coat open to display dozens of pocket watches.

"May I offer to steal your watch?" He asked mysteriously.

"Uh…I don't have a watch," I replied taking a step to the left. The merchant did also.

"Me thinks ye do."

"No, I don't." I walked past him, but he turned and followed.

"Do you have any other valuables such as a ring, or an earring, or simply gold?"

"No," I looked back at my map to make him go away.

Bad idea, because he then exclaimed, "What is that?...Is that? It is! It's a treasure map!" He stole it from my hand.

Then another man, a fat man with a long black beard and one leg, ran up, stole the map from the merchant, and screamed, "Mwa-ha-ha, a map! Where's ze treasore?" He read the map out loud to himself. "Ze school. Zere is treasore at ze school." He quickly ran off, with four other people following him, and the merchant disappeared.

It was a good thing it wasn't hard to get to the school. I could get to the corner of Ale and Whiskey on my own. I just kept walking as if nothing had happened. As soon as I turned on Ale Street, though, I realized that two men were following me. I didn't think much of it at first. With so many people in the city, there was a good chance someone would be headed in the same direction as me. But the further I went, the less I believed that. This was because, as I maneuvered through the crowd, they always stayed directly behind me. I decided to turn and walk in the other direction just to see if they would follow. They did, and they were closing in on me.

I sped up; so did they. By that time I was so scared that I broke out in a dead run, but they kept advancing. I turned down an alley. When I got to the end, I sat down because they weren't following me anymore. I sighed in relief, but before I could even get comfortable, they came at me from both sides. In the time it took me to realize they had shown up and react to it, they had each grabbed one of my arms and begun leading me somewhere. I didn't want to go with them. I didn't know where they were going, but it didn't seem like a good idea. So I tugged, resisted, and struggled, and then, I started talking French. I didn't even know French, just a few random things that my mother taught me, but I thought it might make them go away.

At first it made sense when I shouted, "Pas la-bas! Pas la-bas! Je ne veux pas aller la-bas!" But they weren't listening—probably because they couldn't understand—so I had to keep talking, with nothing more to say. Next, I managed to get out, "La chatte verte a besoin de le singe de destin, parce que le singe de destin peut mort vous." (In other words—the green cat has need of the monkey of doom because the monkey of doom can dead you.) And everything I said after that was worse.

Then, I stopped. I stopped struggling; I stopped talking, and I just walked along. Slowly, they began to loosen their grips on me, thinking I had given up. Maybe I had, but as soon as they had relaxed just enough—I thought—I turned around and ran in the other direction. I was FREE…for about three seconds. It didn't take long for one of them to turn around and catch me again, this time by my shirt. He glared at me, while the other one opened a secret door in the wall behind me. He pushed me through it, and I rolled down most of the stairs.

I hurried to my feet expecting to charge back up the stairs and…well, I'm not sure what I'd do then. But anyhow, I didn't because they came in, shutting the door behind them, and for the first time, I noticed that I was surrounded by other captured people. I slowly turned around to look at them all. There were three boys, triplets—a very unusual occurrence—a mother, her young daughter and their dog, three regular pirate men, one **very **pirate-ish young woman, and a boy alone in the corner fiddling with a knife. I stopped. If all of them couldn't get out together, I couldn't get out by myself.

Plopping myself down on the ground discouragedly, near the edge, but closest to the mother and daughter, I thought, _I will wait for the opportune moment because with the proper planning, we can escape_. I shook my head. I wasn't that smart, and pretending to be was only reminding me of that fact. Anyhow, I wasn't supposed to be talking to these people, much less concocting escape plans with them. _Stop it with the big words Wesley. Stop it!_ But the more I tried to think of small words, the more big words popped into my head, and the stupider I felt. Luckily, the group—that had been whispering about me—eventually decided to talk to me, distracting me from my self torture.

"Do you like my dress? My daddy brought it all the way from Bongalosh in China," the little girl asked me as quietly as a girl her age could. I just smiled. Bongalosh?

Her mother—a very young mother with a very calm voice—stood up and kindly grabbed her daughter saying, "Natalie don't bother him." Then, she turned toward me, "I'm sorry, don't pay any attention to her. She's just too friendly sometimes." She paused for a moment and then inquired, "So why are you here?"

I shrugged.

"Where are your parents?" I shrugged again. At least it was true both times. I really didn't know.

"Is that why you're so quiet? Do you miss them?"

She was already assuming I was quiet, and I did NOT miss my parents. I gave her a look that asked, "Are you crazy?"

"So you don't miss them then?...Are you feeling all right? You seem awfully quiet."

I felt like shouting, "Everyone else in this bloody room is silent too. Why are you picking on me?" But of course, I couldn't say that.

Before I got the chance to give her another strange look, one of the guys stated, "I bet 'e's mute." The other two chuckled at the joke. I was perfectly fine with that. If they believed it, I wouldn't have to say anything.

The mother wasn't so happy about that. She turned to the three men and commanded, "Don't talk like that, you'll scare him." She acted like I was her puppy or something.

"Aww, we're scaring him," the man replied sarcastically. She glared at him, I glared at him, and he looked back like, "Can't ye come up with somethin' better?"

The young pirate-ish woman broke the silence saying, "Can't we all just get along for a minute?" Then, everyone turned to glare at her, and I just tried not to laugh. "Come on, as Brethren we're supposed to get along. We have everything we need."

Brethren, I wondered, brethren of what? And didn't that generally mean they were all men?

She continued gesturing to her side, "They left us a giant pile of food." We all looked, and that pile had recently become a pile of trash—bones, banana peels, bread crusts…and just next to the pile were the triplets, all with guilty faces and messy mouths. One held the last half of the last banana, another a chicken leg, and the third hurriedly stuffed the last slice of bread in his mouth.

"Fine, at least we have shelter from any rain that might come." Outside we heard it thunder, and it started pouring rain outside and leaking through the roof everywhere. As everyone repositioned themselves to compensate for the leaks, the three guys—who just happened to be in the one place it wasn't leaking—laughed and mocked amongst themselves. She just slumped to the floor, not even caring about the rain.

"Anamaria," the same man laughed out at her, "don't—" and then he had to stop because he was laughing too hard.

The mother looked at Anamaria and felt pity on her. Once again, she picked up Natalie, and this time went to go comfort Anamaria, closely followed by the dog. "Don't mind them," she said, sitting down and hugging Anamaria, "they're just immature jerks."

The guys heard that, and, being offended, they stopped laughing. Anamaria smiled a little. At least until it stopped raining everyone was relatively quiet. The first thing we heard after it stopped was, "We're cold," a complaint coming from one of the triplets. At first I just rolled my eyes, but then I noticed that it was getting chilly because the sun was going down.

"Really?" The mother asked, just to be sure.

"Yes!" The three replied urgently.

She got up and walked over to the three men, who were all now sleeping. "Get up Joe," she ordered. When Joe didn't move, she slapped the talkative one—I guess that was Joe—and repeated, "Joseph Raymond Parker, get up!" He scrambled to his feet in a hurry, and the other two sat up as well. She continued, "Build a fire for these poor boys, now."

"But—" He protested, still half asleep.

"Now!"

"With what?"

"I don't know. Maybe you can finally put your head to some sort of good use for a change and actually think of something."

Joe obeyed, reluctantly. He wandered over to the trash pile and kicked it into the middle of the room. He stared at it for a while before asking, "Now what?"

"Do you expect that to just spontaneously combust, and burn for you? Huh?"

"Well, what am I supposed to start it with? It's not like your dog is some sort of fire breathing dragon." That sure put a funny picture in my head—of it blowing all Joe's hair off.

"I'm sure someone here has something you can use."

He waited for a moment and then said, "You heard the lady. Everyone's gotta give me somethin' for this fire, an' one of 'em better be able to start it." He turned to me and added, "You hear that mute boy?"

"He's mute," triplet 1 said.

"Not deaf," triplet 2 interrupted.

"There's a difference," the third finished.

"How would you know that?" 1 and 2 asked 3.

"We knew someone who was mute once," he replied.

"Who?" 1 inquired.

"Oh yeah, that guy with the weird nose," 2 explained.

"Right! And he wasn't deaf," 1 remembered finally.

"All right, all right," Joe complained, "I'm sorry if I offended Mute Boy." He hadn't offended me. So far, this was really all just amusing. Joe started gathering flammable materials for the fire. He quickly gathered a book—which was good, if the person didn't like the book. It would burn well enough, anyhow. Right then, he was over by the other young boy. I wondered why they never asked him if he were mute; he didn't talk either.

"Mommy, what does mute mean?" The little girl asked.

"It means they can't talk, honey," the mother answered.

"Can you really not talk?" The little girl stood right in front of me, her head turned to the side curiously. "How sad."

"Natalie…" Her mother began.

"No, no," Anamaria interrupted, "No, it's a good question. You see everyone's just assumed he couldn't talk, but no one's asked him yet…Are you mute?" She asked me.

I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to lie and say yes, but if I said no, they would go back to asking me why I don't talk. I just looked at them, trying to come up with an answer.

Joe walked over to us, leaned on Anamaria's shoulder, and whispered, "I think he's deaf too." She made that funny teenage girl attitude noise and pushed him away. I stood up in protest. I could hear just fine. "Okay, Mute Boy, calm down. It was only meant as a joke, but if ye took it further, I stand corrected. You can hear just fine…Oh and by the way, I need something to burn."

Then I had to think some more. Something to burn? I used to have a map, but all I had now was the clothes on my back. I shrugged and turned my pockets inside out hoping he would get the point. He gestured his two friends over.

When they got to us, he said, "This boy claims to have nothing at all. Now, we pirates know better than that. Search him 'til ye find something."

I think that was meant mostly as a threat, to make me admit that I really did have something to give him, but I really didn't have anything to give him. The friends started searching. One of them started at the bottom. He took my boots off and emptied them, hoping to find more than the pile of sand that was in them, and then worked up from there. The other started at the top.

"Open up," he said, pointing at my mouth. He stuck this weird little mirror thing inside my mouth. I think he was looking for gold teeth, which wouldn't help with the fire, but he didn't find anything. He moved on to my shirt and didn't find anything there either. This was boring. I think picking my nose would be more interesting.

The two guys met in the middle, after having found nothing of use, just as I said—or implied. They both stood back up, and the guy who had searched the top just happened to notice a leather string tied around my neck. I clutched it to my chest in a last second effort to keep him from taking it. I had forgotten about my necklace…it wasn't worthwhile for burning, though. Nonetheless, he grabbed the black leather, ripped it off of me, and revealed the key tied onto it.

"Nothing but this," he concluded, tossing the necklace to Joe.

Joe examined it for a while before walking up to me and placing it back in my hand. Everyone was shocked that he would do that, including me.

The guy who had searched the bottom asked, "What'd'ya do that for?"

"We can't take that from him."

"Why not?" The other one questioned dumbly.

"It is a sign of great accomplishment on the Black Pearl. He's an honored pirate of theirs. No one else has them…unless he's a thief good enough to steal it from them, and that, Sirs, is an accomplishment. For someone his size, who can't talk, and owns nothing, God he's a good pirate, and I'll respect him for that."

So he did have a heart! A black one, which could only possibly be nice to a really good pirate. It was a bit ironic, though, considering that I didn't have to do anything at all to get the key in the first place.

"But now we have nothing to take from him."

Ooh, big problem. There was still nothing to light the fire. Nothing I had was going to change that, and that was supposed to be the only reason they were taking things from people.

"That's not entirely true," the mother commented, finally offering her assistance again. She grabbed my shirt and explained, "This shirt will burn."

I looked down. Bootstrap had given me one of Will's old jackets to hide my ragged shirt underneath it. It was kind of like, sack-clothy, and sure it would burn, but I couldn't take it off. They didn't want to see my back. I could only imagine how they would react. Of course, it would probably be something similar to the way I reacted when I first looked at myself in a mirror like this. I glanced at Anamaria nervously, hoping she would try to stop this too.

"Don't be scared boy," Joe stated, "Ye ain't got nothing to hide."

I wanted to say, "Yes I do, and you don't want to see it!" but instead, I just turned towards him and took the shirt off. My other shirt came up a little with it. Anamaria—who happened to be behind me at that moment—saw my whole back and gasped and fell to the ground about to puke. I turned around to see if she was okay, thus showing the part of my back that showed through the holes in **my** shirt to everyone else. Joe put his hand on his head and turned away.

The mother covered Natalie's eyes and exclaimed, "Well, no wonder he doesn't want to talk. I wouldn't want to talk if I'd just gone through **that** either."

I turned toward her, frowning. That wasn't why I wasn't talking.

Anamaria stood up, dizzily, only slightly recovered and asked, "How did that happen?"

I looked to her, but before I could even decide whether or not I would answer the question, the mother blurted out, "That explains why he doesn't miss his parents."

_My parents!_ I thought, turning back to the mother with a larger frown. Father hadn't done it—this time. He at least gave me a new shirt afterwards. I really wish they would stop assuming. This would all be so much easier if I could just tell them everything they wanted to know. They kept talking. Everyone had voiced their opinion of my new surprise except for the young boy and Joe. Oddly enough, I felt like the only one who cared at all, or slightly understood me, was Joe, and I just wanted to hide behind him.

Then, the young boy stood up, threw his knife at the floor, and shouted, "Hey! Did you ever think that the reason he's not talking to you is because he's shy and doesn't **want** to answer all your dumb, poking, prodding, annoying question?"

"Yeah!" I agreed, not able to hold it in anymore, and I threw Will's shirt on the floor.

Everyone gasped, and then it grew all quiet and still, as if that was their whole entire goal, to make me talk, and now that they had, they had nothing left to do. At that point, I figured they just all felt bad for annoying me, so they stopped asking questions. Just when I was about to start talking because the silence was annoying me more than their questions, the door at the top of the stairs opened. Another man, kind of short, with hair cut short that was almost white, walked in the door. He was wearing a cloak to protect himself from the rain, and he threw the hood off as he started down the stairs.

"I suppose you all know who I am," he stated, very self-absorbedly. It was obvious he thought a lot of himself, but maybe he had reason. Everyone was afraid of him. The triplet huddled together in a corner. Natalie climbed into her mother's lap. Even the dog whimpered. I just stared at him, trying to figure out what made him so…scarey. It didn't take long.

He walked up to me and in a commanding voice, he asked, "Are you afraid of me Wesley?"

I was about to shout out "no!" or maybe just shake my head. I had only said one word—except for when I was talking to the watch guy. But then, he said my name. That was frightening. My eyes opened wide, and I slowly backed myself up against the wall. He wasn't supposed to know my name; I never told him.

"You are, aren't you?" He noted. I bumped into the wall, suddenly realizing that putting myself there hadn't been a good idea. Now I was trapped.

"Leave him alone, would ya?" Joe broke in. The man turned around to look at Joe, who continued, a little hushed, "He's but a boy, and he belongs to the Pearl."

The old guy faced me again, beginning to ask if that was true, but he stopped because he noticed that I was now holding a sword. "Where did you get that?" He questioned, thinking maybe I was deserving of the legendary ship.

I pointed at his sheath. He looked down, and for only a second he freaked out, perhaps thinking I was magical or something. Then, though, he realized I was the freaked out one, and I had just taken his sword when he was facing Joe. I smiled.

"Are you sure you wanted to do that?" He asked, grabbing Anamaria's, despite her fighting back. I nodded, but quickly changed to shaking my head no when everything connected. He wanted to fight me.

As soon as I thought that, he charged at me. I held the sword handle in one hand, and since it was too heavy for me, I propped the blade up lat against my other hand. I looked at Joe, begging him to help me. Surprisingly, that deflected his first strike. However, the second came more at a downward angle, driving the sword into my hand. I screamed, dropping the sword, and squeezed myself as close to the wall as I could. He put his sword up against the side of my neck. Then, he clicked his tongue, and was about to say something when a sword came flying. It landed in the wall just above my head. I glanced over to see who had thrown it and noticed that Joe had, and everyone else was being released.

The old man also looked back when he heard Joe exclaim, "I told you to leave the kid alone!" The old man took a few steps away from the wall to discuss with and threaten Joe.

I looked around for an escape route he wouldn't notice, and all I could come up with was up. You see, there was no ceiling—just a bunch of rafters—and the walls were very short. Therefore, I took a short running head start, to get me two steps up the wall. From there, I bounced on the sword, which launched me up just enough to grab the edge of the wall. I pulled myself up and climbed onto a rafter.

However, just as soon as I stood up, I fell back off again. That was because the rain made it slippery, and I heard a shot! Luckily, I caught myself between two rafters, but I wouldn't be able to hold on for very long because of my hand—and I'd never done this before. I was up there just long enough to see Joe limping off with the help of his friends. He must have been shot in the leg. The old man was looking around for me; I saw him too. My hand hurt. I picked it up to look at it, but then I started slipping. Scary, huh? It wasn't near as scary as what happened next.

Someone grabbed me from behind, covered my mouth, and commanded, "Don't say a word."


	10. Chapter 10

Sorry about the delay. This chapter was really long, and I was focusing mostly on writing the story instead of just typing it up. I finished it on Christmas Day, 471 pages, now I just have to type all that up. I typed up the Epilogue and put it here as it's own story called Three pirates...with soap. I wouldn't suggest reading it yet, because, after all, it is the end of the story. On the other hand, it doesn't really give away any plots or anything, just hints at one, so it wouldn't be too bad to read if you're one of thoes people like me who has to read the last page of the book about fifty pages into the book.

Anyhoo, to the story, that's what you want anyway.

* * *

Of course, you guys all thought this new person was another bad guy trying to re-kidnap me or something. I thought that at first too, but really, he was helping me escape. I wished I could have said thank you, or bye, or anything for that matter. But I couldn't. I just walked away, attempting to retrace my steps back to Ale Street. It would have worked…if it weren't dark out. I could hardly see one step in front of me, so I was sure I would never be able to find a street. Turning back to the building, I wished I could have asked one of them for directions.

Over there—unbeknownst to me—Joe was leaning against a wall, never having been shot. My "savior" walked over beside him and asked, "What was up with that rogue, flying swords thing?"

"He expected me to save him," Joe explained, "I had to at least pretend like I had."

"Why would he be wanting you to save him? You were **not** supposed to get along with him."

"Extraneous circumstances made that otherwise impossible," Joe replied vaguely. The other man just glared at him, so Joe continued, "I was almost mean to him the whole time, but..."

"But?" He probed.

"But there was that situation with the key. You never told us he was an important kid. I just couldn't take that away from him. He just kept surprising us with these things…and then he suddenly expected me to help him. I had only done two nice things…much more mean stuff than that."

"He is pretty strange. We didn't break him, did we?"

"No, he did say one word," Joe revealed. He looked in my general direction and wondered, after a moment, "Don't you think he'll know it was a set up? At the end not much seemed realistic."

"It didn't have to be realistic," the man mentioned, slamming a small bag of money in Joe's hand, "just convincing enough that an eight year old could believe it." Then, he walked toward me.

When he first caught up with me, I thought he was one of Joe's friends because they looked similar. It was the first time I noticed that he was only in his late twenties. I pretended like I didn't see him and just kept walking.

"Where are you going?" He asked. I just shrugged, so he questioned, "Is it all right if I come along?" I shrugged again.

We walked on for a couple steps, but then he turned to me and said, "You know, what you did in there, it was pretty neat."

I rolled my eyes and turned to leave. Just another person who wanted to talk to me. I only wanted to get to the school, and it wasn't that neat. There were a lot of mistakes.

He grabbed me by the shoulder and continued, "No really. So you made a few mistakes on your moves—okay a lot—but I think you have the potential to learn those moves. You're a fast thinker; I saw that, and that's what's important."

I had to take a few seconds to think about that. It was really nice of him to take the time to flatter me, but why? Was it some sort of scheme like the man with the watches had been? Plus, wasn't that sort of what Barbossa was sending me to the school for? I didn't know how to respond—without saying anything—so I just walked away.

"I bet I know what you're thinking," the man said, quickly following me. "'So what?' I'm offering to teach you something…something you can't just learn at the school. There, they will teach you how to fight. I want to teach you when to fight, who to fight, what to fight over…I want to make you a spy."

A spy. Had I heard correctly? I looked at him. That would be great, so fun, and, even better, Father would hate it! It didn't even matter who I would be spying on, or that it was against the law—hey so was piracy. I wanted to do this.

"I have to go to the school first," I replied, "Captain's orders, but after that, we'll talk about this some more."

I turned and walked toward the school. He smiled from a step behind me. I was easier than he'd expected.

"What do you mean there's no room left in the class?" I asked the lady inside the school.

"I mean, there's no room left. We already have the maximum number of students enrolled. If you had showed up an hour ago, you could have gotten in, but you're just too late," the lady described. She was getting a little frustrated, as was I.

"But…an hour ago! I was locked in a room with ten other witnesses. I couldn't get here."

"Boy, I don't care if you were kidnapped by people from the moon. There are no exceptions. Now, if there is nothing more you'd like to talk to me about, leave!"

I slowly turned around, slumped out of the school, and sat on the stairs just outside the door to think. This wasn't my fault. Barbossa couldn't get mad, could he? The five men who had stolen my map were arguing with a school employee who wouldn't let them dig anymore holes. They were funny. I laughed and then sighed. I had no idea what to do. The spy guy sat down next to me.

"You know what," he began, "my sister Rebecca teaches the art of sword fighting too. I could set you up with her, if you'd like to take my spying class."

"Well, actually, now that I've had time to think about it, I have a few questions. Like who would I be spying on? And who would I be working for? And—"

"Okay, okay. One question at a time. You'd work for your own ship, and you'll spy on whoever they want you to, but it's usually other ships that your Captain wants to attack."

"So, if I'm going to be doing this **for** my ship, shouldn't they know?"

"They should, and they do. In fact, they paid me considerably to see that it be done," he answered.

"How do I know you're not lying to me?" I demanded skeptically.

He pulled out a small bag with a few gold pieces in it and a letter. I grabbed the letter from him, completely forgetting about the gold.

"Hey, what good is that going to do you?" He asked. "You can't read."

"Can too," I replied, opening the letter. Sure enough, it was signed by Barbossa. I skimmed through it, and my eyes fixed on one line. Barbossa had said, "…I give you my consent to use whatever means it takes to test his loyalties to the limit. You have money; make him talk. See how much it takes to make him disobey…" At least now I knew what him and Bootstrap had wanted me to do here.

I crumpled the letter into a ball, threw it at the man, and walked a short distance away. He got up and followed me asking, "What did you do that for?"

"I can't believe that you would do all that—hire two stupid guards, ten annoying companions, and one sleazy hit man—just so it would seem like you had saved my life. Why? So I would feel comfortable enough to talk to you? Or so I would be indebted to you and more likely to take the class? All you had to do was tell me that's what I was supposed to do."

After a moment, the man mentioned, "You can't say it wasn't a little fun, though, can you?"

"It was a little fun, but I'm still mad at you."

"It was supposed to be a test, of sorts. That's what being a bug is going to be like," the man described.

I figured a 'bug' was what he called the whole spying thing, so I retorted, "You mean I'm never gonna be able to talk again?"

"No, but sometimes there will be instructions that just don't make any sense, and you'll have to follow them."

"I'll obey when I want to," I stated surely.

"We'll have to see about that. As for now, it's late, and you've had a hard day. Let's see about getting you to bed."

"I'm not tired," I insisted, yawning.

"Come along. I'll take you to my sister's house."

The next morning I woke up in a small room on a bed that was soft—enough. It was dark. I closed my eyes for only a second, and when I reopened them it was bright in the room. I moaned, complaining that I wouldn't get to sleep any longer.

"Good morning, Sleepy Head," greeted a lady's voice from the left—no the right. I blinked a few times. The light was coming from a window. Suddenly, another set of blinds was thrown open, revealing the young lady who had spoken. She walked over to the bed and continued, "It's a pleasure to meet you Wesley. I'm Becca, but surely Dan told you that. Here's a change of clothes on the bed. Breakfast is downstairs; it's already been served, so hop to it. We've got a big day ahead of us."

When she left, I sat there a moment trying to wake up. As I did, I thought about her appearance. She wasn't what I expected at all, but at the same time, she was. She was an average girl, around 20, with dark, just-above-the-shoulder hair. I think what surprised me was her clothes. She wore this really neat, deep red, silky, long flowing sleeved, knee length, wrap around dress with little pink flowers. That didn't bother me at all because Father had this slave who used to wear something similar and call it a…kimono? But anyways, she was wearing pants underneath it, which was what surprised me. I'd never actually **seen** a girl do that.

I hurried to do what she said and then ran downstairs for breakfast. Dan was washing some dishes. He served me a plate of food that was cold, but I didn't complain. I ate it quickly. Then, following his directions, I made my way to where Becca was to teach me sword fighting. I was so excited! Little did I know what this whole thing was really going to get me into.

When I got to the training room, Becca was already there practicing what she was going to teach me. She had changed into clothes more 'practical for such strenuous activities,' but she was still in pants. I took a step inside the room and knocked on the open door.

She looked up and said, "Oh there you are. Are you ready to start?" as she threw another sword to me. It would have been perfect for me to catch it like in all those stories, but I didn't think I could. Instead, I took one step back and just let it drop to the floor.

"Okay. This is going to take some work," she mumbled to herself. "Now, pick up the sword…with one hand." She was giving me those orders very slowly. By the time she had finished that and looked back to me, I had already picked it up in my left hand and situated myself in the closest I could get to the ready position.

She cocked her head a little. "Good…very good. Not quite, but good. You need to switch your feet. No…" She frowned, seemingly confused. Holding her sword in her right hand, she tried standing the way I was, and then she changed to what she thought it was. Quickly, she realized that the problem was not the way I was standing, but that she was going to have to teach me left handed.

"Are you left handed or are you just standing like that?" She inquired, just to be sure.

I nodded, "Yeah."

"Okay, then," she agreed, switching hands, "you're right. Now, you're going to stay in this position."

"Why?" I asked just in case she might tell me.

"Because," she explained, beginning to walk around me in a circle, "you have to know this position, feel the position. Get to know it as if it were your friend. Because every move you'll ever learn will be based off of this." She paused and examined how I stood. "Good. At ease," she commanded.

"What?"

"Stand normally and relax."

"Oh." So I did, and Becca continued to walk around me. I didn't like that, so I would turn to always be facing her as she walked. We walked around like that for a short while, but at random times she would command, "Ready thyself." I would jump into the ready position, and she would examine me. One of those times, Becca took her sword and knocked mine out of my hand. I looked from her to the sword and back, confused as to shy she did it.

"Lesson number one," she stated, "is: Bend."

"What?" How in the world was I supposed to bend?

"Pick up your sword." I obeyed. "Now, is it easier to hold it as you are, or like this?" She asked, pushing my sword back so far that I was only holding it with two fingers.

"Of course, the normal way," I replied. That was obvious.

"Then hold it that way."

I frowned at her. I had been trying to do that when she knocked it out of my hand.

She realized I was confused and added, "Pretend that your hand is glued to the sword like that. You never—NEVER—want to let it go, so when you feel like you are going to let go, move so that you are always holding the sword the right way."

"Okay." I thought I knew what she meant.

"Okay." Becca tried knocking the sword away again. This time, my hand was "glued" to the sword, but bending my arm threw me off balance, and I fell over. Becca broke out laughing at the same time as she tried to help me up. Trying to calm herself, she explained, "No, move your feet. You don't have to just constantly stand that way. If you watch two people fighting, do they just stand still?"

"No."

"Exactly. You know why? Because moving makes it easier. Yes the ready position is the beginning of every move, but making an attack, defending yourself, escaping…they all require moving." As she said "making an attack," she lunged me slow enough that I could deflect it. On "defending yourself," the roles changed, and she "escaped" by spinning one full turn while stepping backwards.

"That's not escaping," I noted with a smile. "I'm still here to get you." Then she smiled back. I charged her, she deflected it, and we were fighting! Granted, it was really slow and nothing fancy, but it was happening. And God it was fun.

Two weeks later I began the class on spying. At that time it didn't make sense to me why I was learning math, history, cooking, culture…everything, but by the end of six months I could multiply in Spanish, fry eggs, dance the salsa, and sword fight while hopping on one foot all at the same time. Okay, not really, and I couldn't do those things exceptionally well. All in all, though, I had become a well rounded person.

That day I was fighting Becca again, and even though she still went a little easy on me, it felt great that I was beating her. We were doing much more difficult tricks now, like with all the fancy footwork, and a little rolling and jumping. Then, I pulled a move on her that she didn't know I knew. She tripped, and I gently touched my sword to her neck before helping her back up again.

"I taught him that," Dan bragged, having just appeared in the doorway. Becca rolled her eyes, and I smiled elatedly. Dan continued, "Wes, come here. I've got an assignment for you." I obeyed.

Becca put one hand on her hip. "Ugh, and now you'd take him away from my class time."

"Come on Becca, it's not like he needs more training there." Then he turned to me and, pointing to a group of boys down the street, explained, "See those four kids over there? They're betting over which ships are going to win upcoming battles—"

"They know that stuff?" I interrupted. "I mean, I know the POLANDs have to approve all the schedules, but how would that group get a hold of them?" (Don't worry, you'll understand the POLANDs soon enough.)

"They stole it apparently, but what I want is you to take this," he handed me a small pouch of gold, "and bet that the Mauvais will beat the Desolator tomorrow."

"No way," I refused. "That's stupid; they'd never win. You're setting me up to lose."

"Wesley. Remember what I told you. The jobs that you're sent on don't always make sense, but in order for everything to go as planned, you need to obey exactly."

I rolled my eyes and walked over to them. I noticed that the boy who never spoke from my first day was among them. They all looked distracted by a problem. I plopped myself in a gap between the boy I knew and someone else.

In a fake southern American colonies accent, I asked, "What are you all doing?" Though it sounded more like, "whach'y'all doin'?"

They all just stared at me until the boy I knew said, "Boys, I'd like you ta meet Wesley. He's the Pearl boy I was telling you about."

In order, clockwise, I heard, "Hello," "Good day," "Hi."

"Hey y'all," I replied. "So, whach'ya doin'?"

"What are you doing?" The hi guy asked rudely. I could tell he didn't want me there.

"I's jus' wond'rin' whach'y'all is doin'."

"It ain't nothin' you'd understan'," he mocked. I glared at him slightly. If he only knew…

The boy I knew explained, "Don't mind him; he's just in a bad mood. You see, we're having quite a perplexing problem that we ourselves can't figure out. I doubt you could, having ne'er played the game."

"Kin I at least try? I'm really good at games."

He looked questioningly at the rest of the group. Two of the three moaned an 'I guess so.' The hi guy just sat there, arms crossed. He didn't like me for some reason.

"All right, here's the problem: We all choose which ship we want to win a battle, and so does another group. Then, we get together with the other group to bet over who gets the ship they want. Last week, we were sure the Desolator would beat the Black Pearl—no offense to ya—cuz she ain't been doin' much these past six months…plus we heard she'd picked up a curse. But they must have been makin' improvements 'cuz they won."

"Speaking of big improvements," interrupted the boy who had said good day, "rumor has it Jack's not the captain anymore. D'ya think, just maybe, he's helpin' out the Mauvais?" He seemed to be begging more than asking.

I didn't know Jack that well, but I knew enough to reply, "Naw, sorry. Jack's gonna need more time 'an that ta plan 'is revenge."

"So he is gone," the boy I knew started.

"That means Barbossa is now the captain," the good day boy continued. He must have een some sort of researcher because he knew an aweful lot. "Hmm, the Mauvais can never win now."

"Well, why don't ya jus' bet on da Pearl?" I asked as if it were an obvious solution.

"We don't have the money. The other guys could out bid us easily, 'specially since we lost the last one."

The one who had said hello finally loosened up and commented, "Not to mention, if we try an' get the Pearl and then lose the bid, we'll lose this round for sure, and just end up losing more money." He sighed.

"Would this help?" I wondered, tossing my money into the center. It was in total defiance of what Dan had told me. _Oh well,_ I told myself, _circumstances had changed. _The researcher picked up the bag, looked inside, and quickly closed it again.

"Are you sure you want to give us all this?" He questioned, but quickly continued, "What am I doing giving you a chance to take your money back?" he cautiously opened the bag again and bit a piece of the gold to test its authenticity. "Yes, yes. This will do quite well." I could tell he was trying to hold in his excitement.

"How much is in there?" The boy I knew asked, leaning over and mumbling some things to the researcher. Even the hi guy stopped frowning a little.

Then, the hello boy's eyes widened and he said, "Um, not to like ruin the party, or anything, but they're here."

"Who?" I asked as everyone looked up. I turned to see what they were looking at. There, in front of us, were five boys, about the same age as this group, and they wore the same type of piratey clothes. Four of the five stood in a line, with the oldest, tallest, and meanest standing one step ahead of them in the middle. It was obvious they were richer and had more resources. My four friends gradually drifted into the same formation; the boy I knew was in the front. The two leaders walked toward each other and met in the middle.

"Let's see what you've got," the other leader started, "but then, you might as well give up now 'cuz you've never got enough."

"Yeah, you've never got enough," one of his members repeated just like Ragetti would have.

Their leader rolled his eyes and continued, "Anyhow, let's get this over with. How much money are you willing to waste on the Mauvais?"

"The Mauvais!" The researcher blurted out, "We're betting on the Pearl."

"What?" He laughed, "You think you have enough money to beat us, yeah, sure." He quickly discarded the idea.

"You, beat us, ha," mini-Ragetti emphasized.

"We have ten of these," the boy I knew mentioned calmly, holding up one of the large gold coins branded with a skull and crossbones. That was the first time I had seen what Dan had put in the bag. It was some of the gold that Barbossa had used to pay for my instruction. The other group's leader reached toward the gold coin, and the boy I knew quickly drew it back, returning it to the bag.

The researcher snuck in, "That's two more than your maximum limit to play at once."

"Who'd ye steal it from this time Christopher?" The leader asked accusingly.

The boy I knew, apparently Christopher—replied, "We didn't steal it from anyone, Edmund."

"Okay," he retorted sarcastically, "who donated it to you involuntarily?"

Once again, mini-Ragetti giggled, "Donated involuntarily."

"No one!" Christopher exclaimed, stomping his foot, but Edmund had already spotted me watching from a distance.

He pushed Christopher out of the way and walked toward me saying, "Oh, well that explains it, you've got a new member."

"Who me?" I asked, almost forgetting the southern drawl. "Naw, I'm only visitin'."

"Don't be bashful Mate. We only want to welcome you."

"And what a welcoming indeed," another of Edmund's group, with a still slightly proper British accent, added, and then everyone else congratulated him on his smart remark. Something told me the "welcoming" wasn't as great as they said it was.

"You see that girl over there?" Edmund asked, pointing to a lady—amazingly still in a dress—standing in the middle of the road.

"Yessur," I answered.

"Convince her that you are blind, an' get her to take you to this address," he explained, handing me a slip of paper with the address on it.

At the same time, mini-Ragetti muttered, "Blind."

"Where is this?" I inquired.

"Doesn't matter; you're blind." Edmund continued, "When you get there, I want you to choose a random person and pick a fight with them. If you succeed, your group gets to keep your 10 coins whether the Pearl wins or not. And if the Pearl does win, we'll give you, on top of that, 20 gold coins."

"By succeed, do ya mean win da fight, or jus' pick it?" I questioned to avoid loopholes.

"If you don't succeed," he continued without answering, "we get your 10 coins, and you'll lose something even more valuable…your eyes."

Obviously, those were empty threats, but I didn't know that. To me, it was real. I gulped, imagining life without eyes. Interestingly, the first thought to pop into my head was: _Awesome, then I could have an eye patch like a real pirate._

That thought was ended by the hello boy begging, "Don't make him do this!" Then, he turned to me, "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"Okay," I accepted, ignoring the hello boy. I was feeling up to the challenge. Without even thinking twice, I turned and crossed the street. I did that because there was a row of houses I could lean on to pretend I was blind.

I closed my eyes and started walking towards her. I knew there were about seven or eight houses between us, but the distance seemed twice as long with my eyes closed. Every now and then, I would open my eyes, just to make sure I hadn't passed her, even though I knew I hadn't. When I got to the end of the row, I opened my eyes just a little. She stood in the middle of the road. At the moment, everyone else was rushing off to lunch—in Tortuga they drank lunch as opposed to eating it.

I couldn't figure out how a blind man would cross the street without being tripped, but then, I got an idea. She would be more likely to help me if I did get tripped, so I just closed my eyes, bit my lip, and crossed the street. Just as I thought, someone's foot came out of nowhere, and I went splat in the middle of the road.

"Watch it kid," I heard someone say—probably the person I tripped over. I could tell everyone was walking around me instead of trying to help. I climbed to my hands and knees. All of a sudden, someone grabbed my arm and helped me to my feet.

"Are you okay?" She asked.

"Yes, yes. I'm fine, just a little dirty," I replied, leaning over to brush off my pants. I opened my eyes for a second to see if it was the right girl. The dress was the right color, so I supposed it was. "Thank you, though," I mentioned, standing up.

"You missed a spot," she noted and brushed off my chest.

"Thank you again."

Then, a piece of her dress bumped my arm, and I knew how I would let her know I was blind. I grabbed it, felt it, and asked, "It feels beautiful. What color is it?"

"It's blue," she replied with a confused tone. "Why? Are you blind or something?"

"Well, actually, I am."

"I'm sorry to hear that. May I ask how it happened?"

"Oh…" I thought for a second. That problem had never crossed my mind. "Well, I'd love to tell you the story," I concluded, "but it's awfully long, and I'm already late for an appointment. Maybe some other time."

"If we meet another time," she muttered.

I smiled, then turned to go, but I pretended not to know where I was going. I turned back to her and said, "I seem to be a little turned around. Do you think you could point me in the direction of this place?" I held out the piece of paper with the address on it.

She looked at it, turned it over because I held it out upside down, and stated, "It's that way."

"Which way?" I asked because I couldn't see her.

"That way," she repeated. I just waited. "Oh, I'll just take you. This way you can tell me how you became blind." She grabbed my hand and led me to where I was going.

I didn't know this, but at the same time, Edmund grabbed Christopher and commanded, "Let's see what's happening, shall we?" He walked toward the lady and I, closely followed by the members of both groups.

"…And so that's how I lost both of me eyes, Miss," I finished as we rounded the last corner. I had simply put a little twist on what just happened to me and completed the story as if I did not succeed.

"Ooh, interesting. Can I see your eyes, well I mean where they used to be?"

"I don't think you'd want to," I yelled over an increasing noise coming from a crowd of people. Changing the subject, I asked, "Why is it so loud here?"

"Because we've arrived," she replied just as loud as I had.

"It's a bar?"

"I was wondering why you wanted to come here."

I had to improvise, explaining, "Someone told me he would meet me here to talk about me eyes."

"Oh, okay. I suppose I'll leave you to your business now. Good day."

"Good day," I replied as she left. Then, I opened my eyes, waited a second for them to adjust, and then entered the bar.

I looked around for someone to fight. I didn't really want to fight anyone, but it was better than losing my eyes—if that was even anything more than just a threat. Either way, I couldn't be talking myself out of this now. I had started it; I was going to finish it. There had to be someone there I could fight, but the all seemed too big, or in a group. However, from the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of someone I recognized. The man who tried to "steal my watch" was playing poker. I had a reason to fight him. Now all I needed to do was provoke him. To seem normal, I took my time to get to him. When I did, I walked up behind him and took a look at his cards—a pair of eights.

I leaned over his shoulder and whispered loud enough for the three people playing with him to hear, "Sorry, but you should really fold. A pair of eights isn't exactly the highest hand in the book." I patted him on the shoulder.

He slammed his cards down, stood up, faced me, and demanded, "What was that for?" His tone was a lot harsher than it had been before.

"Is that how you greet an old friend?" I asked, sounding surprised.

"You told them my cards!" He shouted angrily.

"You stole my map!" I shot back.

"Well…that's…that's…that's what pirates do."

"Oh really? Then you won't mind a bit if I return the favor, would ya? I'll just take your extra money, your last handful of chips, and of course, one of your precious watches." As I said each item, I took it from the table or his jacket that was lying across his chair. Then, I turned and walked away.

"You come back here right now, Boy," he ordered.

"Why?" I stopped and looked at him. "You gave me permission to take these things. 'That's what pirates do,'" I quoted him.

"I'm going to get you for that," he growled.

"Bring it on!"

He rushed toward me, and I just stood there, acting like I was not afraid. That is, until he grabbed a half-full bottle of rum from another table and threw it at my head. I ducked just in time, and it hit the wall behind me. The man who the rum belonged to was getting ready to join the fight.

"Ha! You've missed!" I exclaimed, standing back up.

"You think you're pretty clever then eh? We'll see—" he began, but he was interrupted by Jack. Jack had been sitting in the back corner of the bar, but he swaggered over just to stop the fight.

"Now, now," Jack said, putting his arm around the merchant, "Somethin's tellin' me that perhaps ye should rethink this."

The merchant nodded his head a little, but only because in Jack's hand was a small pouch of sapphires, rubies, and diamonds which was being offered to him.

"That should cover any trouble he's caused, savvy?" Jack continued, patting the merchant on the back. "An' here's some rum…fer the soul."

Then, Jack walked—more like swayed—over to me. "Wesley," was all he said.

I replied, "Jack," trying to show the initial surprise I had felt.

"You an' I need to have a li'l parley outside, savvy?" He reached down to grab my hand but stopped when he saw all the stuff in my hands. "What's this?" He asked, taking it all.

"His stuff," I replied with a guilty smile.

"You stay right there," he commanded. As he swaggered back to the merchant, I felt so tempted to leave just because he told me not to, but I didn't. Jack stuffed all the things in the merchant's arms—who just stood there, holding everything, amazed by the honesty—and walked back to me.

"Shall we?" He gestured toward the door. I rolled my eyes but still obeyed. Behind us, the man who had lost his rum punched the merchant in the face.

Meanwhile, Edmund had made it to the bar shortly after me, and most of them were watching attentively to see how things would play out. Christopher and Edmund were sitting just outside the door, and the other seven were around the corner, some of them peeking in a window. When Jack showed up and prevented the fight, though, Edmund shot a warning glance at Christopher who just responded with a shrug.

"Eric!" Edmund whispered firmly to one of the members of his group.

"Yes sir?" Eric responded, sneaking around the corner. He was the slightly proper one.

"Who is that?" Edmund inquired, pointing at Jack under the swinging doors.

Eric cocked his head and stared for a while before answering slowly, "I don't know…but he's coming out."

"Let's go," Edmund commanded, grabbing Christopher by the elbow again and sneaking back around the corner with the two. Edmund's three other members were still looking through the window, while Christopher's three sat dejectedly on the ground.

The hi guy was the first to jump up—surprisingly—when the other three came around. "What's going on?" He whispered excitedly.

"Nothing," Edmund replied, looking back around the corner to see what would happen.

"Phew," he sighed and slumped back to the ground.

"No," Christopher explained, "that's the problem."

Edmund looked at the eight other people and called, "Mark." Christopher's researcher looked up. "Come here."

Mark slowly got up and walked over to Edmund asking, "What do you want me for?" because Edmund hardly ever asked Christopher's group to do anything unless it was bad.

Knowing that Mark was a much better researcher than Eric would ever be, Edmund demanded in an almost kind voice, "I want you to look around this corner and tell me who that bloody pirate it!" The last four words were much louder and harsher.

"Oka-ay," Mark agreed reluctantly. He leaned around the corner, but when he saw Jack, he couldn't contain his excitement. He shouted, "JACK!" but luckily for them, Edmund covered his mouth and pushed him up against the wall.

"You know him?" Edmund asked quietly.

Mark nodded because his mouth was still covered.

"Then tell me who he is…quietly," Edmund ordered, slowly uncovering Mark's mouth.

"He is Jack Sparrow, Captain," he shook his head, "no ex-Captain of the Black Pearl."

Edmund went to the cormer to listen to what we were saying.

I was sitting on the railing just outside the door and Jack was standing in front of me. "I'm going to ask this once," he began, "and only once, so you better give me a good answer. What was all that about?"

"He stole my map," I half lied. Jack just stared at me, so I continued quickly, "Well, Barbossa was feeling crazy and decided he wanted me to be a bug, and so here I am, and Dan—my bug teacher—told me I had to become a part of this one group of kids, but in order to join the group, I had to pass the test of their opponent group, whose leader said I had to get in a fight with someone or he'd cut out my eyes!" I had long since forgotten about the southern accent.

"Hmm," Jack started pacing, "so you're saying that if you didn't get in that fight, you'd either lose your eyes or not get in the group, and if you didn't get in the group, you'd fail your bug class, and in turn, Barbossa would kill you."

"Yeah," I agreed.

"Hmm," he stopped, faced me, and stroked his goatee in a thoughtful manner. "This is quite a perplexing problem…," he thought for a little while longer. "I've got it."

"What?" I asked, jumping off the railing but staying on the porch.

"Forget them all!" He suggested with a wide gesture.

"Huh?" I had actually thought he had a good idea.

"Dash all your bloody problems. Ignore all those ugly people and run away with me."

"Really?" I was getting excited again.

"We could find ourselves a crew, commandeer one o' these ships, an' be pirates together, no worries in the world."

"And if we should happen to cross paths with the Pearl?"

"We would fight her, and win! An' take what rightly belongs to us."

"The treasure?" I asked, confused.

"The ship," Jack explained. Then, he added, "Your mother, Bootstrap."

"George?" I wondered.

"Pintel and Ragetti, a ship isn't the same without them."

And so it was decided, that night we were to commandeer a ship.


	11. Chapter 11

That night Jack and I along with a few misfits and scallywags sat behind the bushes at the dock, trying to decide which ship to commandeer.

"Wha' 'bout that one Capt'n?" A pirate with a patch over his left eye pointed toward a ship on the left. The sails were tattered, the main mast was bent, and the entire ship was tilting to one side.

Jack and I looked at each other and concluded, "Naw."

"That one don't look too bad," Jack pointed out a ship directly ahead of us.

"Exactly," I agreed, "not **too bad**. With a hammer and some nails and half a sycamore tree, it would be exceptional." Jack crossed his arms grumpily, knowing I was right, as I continued, "Now, there's gotta be somethin' better in this port. What about that one?" I gestured to the right with my head.

"Now, she's a beauty," the patch man gawked.

"I always have fancied Anamaria's ship," Jack added.

"Well, it's decided then. Let's take it." I stood up, ready to go.

"You wait a second Lad," Jack ordered, pulling me back down. "Ye see those two guard o'er there? Somehow, we've got to get past them un-noticed." I looked at him understandingly as he began to tell me his plan.

In no time at all, I found myself running toward the two guards screaming, "Guards! Wait…please!"

The two guards had been walking away from me, but the turned around when they heard me. When I finally caught up with them, I pretended to be exhausted, panting as I said, "Look over there…someone's stealing the ship."

Meanwhile, Jack had gone over to one of the other ships and cut her loose. As the ship drifted further and further from the beach, I sent the guards chasing after it. Then, I waved Jack and the crew over to me, and we boarded Anamaria's ship. Jack started shouting orders, and the crew obeyed—unfurling sails, raising the anchor, packing gunpowder, some of them vomiting over the edge, etc. But there was one thing that none of us noticed until one of the pirates headed below deck to exploit the rum supply. There in the storage room, sat an entire other crew of pirates playing poker around a table.

The young man crouched in a corner eavesdropping on them, when they first realized the ship was moving. He quietly snuck back up and reported what he saw to the pirate with the patch over his eye. The message quickly passed around, as the pirates whispered it to everyone but Jack and me. We didn't even notice anything was up until they all screamed, "Abandon ship!" and jumped overboard. By then, though, he and I were already back-to-back and surrounded by the other crew. Jack immediately pulled out his sword, ready to fight all of them at once. I, however, took a totally different approach to it.

"Shh," I commanded everyone, "we're trying to hide from her."

"Who?" Jack whispered to me over his shoulder.

"The one that's been chasing us," I replied quietly, acting paranoid. Everyone just looked at me like I was crazy, which was the desired result. One of the pirates glanced at Jack questioningly. He just shrugged. That didn't help me any.

"There she is!" I exclaimed, pointing out to the sea. As soon as everyone had turned to see her, I pointed the other direction, "Now she's there, behind the sails!" I once again waited for everyone to turn and realize there was no one there and then continued, "Man! You guys are slow. I can't believe you missed her."

"Boy," one of the pirates said, "there is no one there." He grabbed me by the wrist.

"Well of course not! She's gone now."

And then, all of a sudden, I heard a woman's voice in my head. "What's all this fuss about?" I freaked out because I believed that I actually was going crazy.

The pirate dropped me, and I fell to my butt. I concluded the voice must have been real if he reacted that way. The voice had come from behind me, so I turned around to face it.

"Anamaria," Jack began, "what a surprise to see you."

"Oh, and I would be the one you'd least expect to see on MY ship," she replied sarcastically.

"It's your boat?" Jack acted surprised again. "Well, we were just—"

"Stealing my ship," Anamaria finished for him.

"I was actually thinking 'about to leave,' but—"

"Good, then I'll escort you out…savvy?" She mocked his constant tendency.

"Now what are we gonna do?" I asked the next morning as I sat next to jack in a jail cell—and yes, as surprising as it may seem, they do have law enforcement in Tortuga.

"They'll release us after breakfast an' we'll try again," he replied.

"You seem absolutely certain of that. How would you know?"

"They're pirates, Lad, an' the one thing pirates can not resist is a bribe."

"And how do you propose to 'buy our freedom'?" I wondered, reverting back to properness like I did sometimes.

"With this," he answered, tossing a bag of gold between us. He continued, "Just before I stopped your fight yesterday, I took this from another man at his table."

"So that's why you didn't feel bad 'bout givin' all 'is stuff back!" I realized, "You'd stolen more!"

"No," Jack corrected, "pirates do not steal. They commandeer because stealing implies you got caught, an'…stealing is illegal. Savvy?"

"An' commandeering isn't?" I questioned. I knew already that commandeering was just as illegal as stealing. Probably worse, as it always somehow involved the government and military. I just wanted to hear his explanation, but I never got that chance. At that very moment, the door at the end of the hall banged open, and a man walked in.

Jack stood up and prepared for the bribe. He brushed off his pants, pulled down his vest, and straightened his hat, even though he didn't really look any better. Instead of just walking towards us, however, the man stopped and held the door open for another man…Dan. I just sat in the back of the cell watching Jack, who, in a confused way, leaned against the door watching the two men come towards us. They stopped for a second by a desk across the hall. Dan gave the guard some money, like Jack spoke about, and then they came and unlocked the cell door.

I got up and smiled at Jack, joking, "It seems that I've gotten out instead of you."

"You're not getting out of anything," Dan said grumpily contradicting the guard who removed my handcuffs. Then, Dan just turned and walked away. I stood there frowning. He didn't usually act like that.

A few steps away, Dan stopped and asked, "Well, are you coming or not?" Without saying another word, he turned and kept walking, and I followed.

As soon as we got out of the prison, I questioned, "Is something wrong Danny? I mean, you seem—"

"Is something wrong?" He repeated, facing me for only a second. "You're what's wrong."

"What did I do?" I had to run to keep up with him.

"You know what you did," he paused and waited for me to say something, but when I didn't, he continued, "You disobeyed me, **again**!"

"But…" I had to think for a second, "I had a reason this time."

"What was your reason for betting on the wrong ship, completely abandoning the whole mission, and getting arrested with Jack Sparrow?"

"The ships changed," I explained, hoping it would be good enough for him. "The Desolator wasn't in the rankings anymore. It was the Pearl."

"So? I told you to bet on the Mauvais. A change in the opponent shouldn't make a difference."

"You would have me bet against my own ship?"

"That was the point, yes. The group should have wanted to accept you because of who you were pretending to be, not because you won them the bet. And it's always harder for people to place their confidence in the losing side."

"But the group wouldn't accept me either way unless I got in a bar fight."

"Then why didn't you?"

"I almost did!" I replied, "But then someone helped me to realize that hurting someone who did nothing to you wasn't worth it."

"And what is worth it? Stealing the ship of the daughter of the richest pirate in the world?" He paused for emphasis, "and yet you seemed to have no problem running off with that insolent, self-centered, hygiene-less, pirate Jack Sparrow, to do just that…I can't keep teaching you to bug Wesley, or pirate even, as long as your loyalties lie only with yourself."

"But, I'm loyal to my ship, by betting for it."

"Wesley, accepting an offer from Jack to 'fight the Pearl and win' is in no way being loyal to your ship. Jack used to be your captain, but he isn't anymore."

For a moment we walked on in an awkward silence, but I couldn't help but wonder, "How do you know so much about what happened?"

"News travels fast in a town full of drunkards and spies."

"What?" I mumbled to myself as I tried to figure it out.

After another second, Dan brought out, "You know this was your last chance. You've made one last mistake under my roof, and I'm sending you back to your ship." He grabbed me by the ear and dragged me silently back home.

Thankfully, it wasn't a long ways to Dan's house. However, the second we walked in the door, he called over his assistant and commanded, "I want you to write me a letter saying: 'Dear Barbossa, Captain of the Black Pearl, It is to my dismay that I must urge you to return and retrieve Wesley Swann due to his utter disrespect—'"

"Disrespect!" I exclaimed, "Danny you can't say that!" I complained even though I realized it was a little true.

But he just continued, "'Disobedience, dishonesty, discordance with my rules…'" Then he asked me, "What other dis- words are there?"

"Disregard, but—"

"Good one."

_Great,_ I thought, _I'm writing my own death sentence._

"'He has undeniably disregarded so many things I have taught him, it's disgusting! I highly suggest his dismissal from any prominent positions immediately. I will describe the details of this disfavorable release upon your prompt return.'"

That entire time I had been trying to interrupt, and when he finally stopped to collect his thoughts, I had the perfectly worded response of, "While I very much dislike the dissemination of mistruths, your discouraging dissertation has only served to make me more disinclined to acquiesce to any discipline you might dispense."

"What?" Dan asked, completely lost in the dis-s.

"Exactly," I said, taking it a totally different way. "Nothing you're saying makes any sense. Sure, I was dishonest…when you told me, and contrary to what you've said, that is o-bedience. In reality, I find myself quite discrete and discerning."

"Discerning, huh? Well, if you're so discerning, why don't you go to your room and 'discern' what Barbossa will do to you when he gets here," he commanded and then he continued with the letter.

I stood there for a second. _What would Barbossa do?_ I wondered, turning toward my room. As I walked up the stairs, I thought of all the things that had been done to me, and then everything horrible ever in the Jason stories. I imagined what I would feel like if it happened all at once. I stopped breathing, my stomach dropped, and my eyes glossed over. There was nothing there, no fear, no pain, just nothing.

"That's it," I sighed, "I'm going to die." I was so engulfed by the empty, helpless feeling that I wanted to lay on my bed and not get up until Barbossa came and killed me. However, when I pushed my door open, expecting to see an empty room, I almost didn't notice Edmund and Christopher, their groups, and Becca scattered across the floor.

They looked up when they heard me close the door. I was so overwhelmed that I put my hand on my forehead, moaned, and slid to the floor. I closed my eyes for a few seconds, and when I opened them again, both groups were surrounding me with angry eyes. Becca watched intently from a distance. Edmund picked me up off the floor by my shirt and glared into my eyes for a while. It was obvious that he was mad. I didn't know why, but I didn't care. I was going to die anyways.

He said something about my southern accent and then pushed me at someone else in his group. They pushed me around for a while, all complaining about not fighting, running off with Jack, and other stuff I didn't pay any attention to. And then, finally someone stood up for me.

"Come on you guys. None of that stuff has anything to do with you," the researcher started, but he didn't get a chance to say anything else.

Instead, the hi guy interrupted, "You know what, Mark's right." He continued as he rallied Christopher and the boy who said hello to stand between Edmund's group and me, "Wesley didn't do those things to you; he did them to us. Let us take care of the traitor." He shoved Edmund out of the way.

Edmund threw his hands up, took one step back, and replied, "All right then."

The hi guy pulled out a small dagger. Everyone gasped and took a step back—including Eric and mini-Ragetti, who had each been holding one of my arms. At the same time, he said, "Fight me Wesley, fight me."

Immediately, Mark argued, 'That's not what I meant, and you know it!"

But he just repeated, "Fight me Wesley."

All of a sudden it dawned on me that they were so mad at me because they had seen the whole thing. Dan was so mad at me because they had told him. They were also the explanation for that one thing Dan had said: a town full of spies and drunkards. _Drunkards,_ I thought for a second, _How were they drunkards?_ I hardly had time to realize that they weren't before I noticed the circle that had reformed, this time around the hi guy and me. He stood there, knife in hand, glare in his eyes. This was revenge. He had said from the beginning I was not to be trusted, and he knew he was right. I just stared gloomily at the floor.

"Aren't ye going to fight back?" Eric asked.

I shook my head.

"What!" The hi guy frowned, taken aback by my response.

"No!" I shouted, trying not to cry—because Dan says pirates don't cry.

"Your loss," he said, coming towards me. "You owe us a pair of eyes."

For a moment, I was scared. I pushed myself up against the wall, ducked, closed my eyes, covered my head, and waited for the worst. It seemed like forever that I sat there imagining over and over that he'd stabbed me, listening as he crept closer and closer. And then…thump… something had fallen, but somehow, it wasn't me. I looked up. Standing there was Becca, arm out, and the hi guy was lying on the floor, unhurt, but shocked.

She commanded, "As written in the code, set down by the honorable Morgan and Bartholomew, as recorded by Philips, 'Damned be ye who dareth to draw thy sword against he who has none, or despite his ownership refuses to use it.'" She paused for a second, "Take that as a warning. Now go."

They remained motionless.

"Shoo, I said! Leave!" She ushered them out. Then, she turned back to me as I stood up. "What happened?" She asked, truly concerned. "I was looking forward to proving your talent. I thought for sure you'd show them all up. But you didn't Wesley. You didn't even try. Why not?"

"Why should I?" I responded, turning away. "I'm going to die anyhow."

"Nonsense Wesley. Why do you say that?"

I faced her again with a look that said, 'Don't you know? Everybody else does.' She didn't reply, so I explained, "So I made a mistake! Is it that big of a deal? But now, Danny is going to fail me—which doesn't really bother me, except, he's writing this letter to Barbossa using all these over exaggerated words. And then Barbossa is going to think things are so much worse than what they are, and he'll kill me for sure!"

"Wesley," she stated so calmly as she squatted down and gently held my shoulders. "It's not going to be that bad. You'll see, everything will be fine. Really."

SO MUCH FOR THAT! No more than one week later, I stood on the beach of Tortuga listening to yet another person yell and scream at me for what I'd done.

"What do you expect me to say to this?" Barbossa asked angrily, waving the letter around in the air after a long line of ranting. "What can I say? You hurt me Wesley. Running off with Jack to destroy me! You deserve to die for that! And Dan tells me you spoke to him before you made it to the school. You directly violated my orders."

Dan, who was standing behind me, crossed his arms and nodded his head as if urging, 'Yeah, you tell him Barbossa."

"Yeah, but—" I started.

"But what? He saved your life? You didn't know he was working for me? You had just spent two hours locked in a room with people who were convinced you were deaf?"

"No!" I protested quickly, but then I paused for a second, distracted by something else. "How do you know that?"

"Do you ask a French man how he knows French? No, he just does. I'm a pirate Wesley. Pirates know everything."

"Everything?" I asked doubtfully, adding to myself, _I'm a pirate too, and people would argue that fact about me._

"Everything," he repeated. He clasped my hands in shackles as he continued, "Like how to walk to the jail without saying a word to anyone." He paused and then turned toward the two pirates who stood behind him, "Johnny, Bo, to the boat!"

The two pirates slowly walked the twenty feet to the rowboat, whispering all the way. I then noticed that these were the same two pirates who had first led me to learn that Barbossa was the new captain, for our lovely 'discussion' that night. When they made it to the boat, though—Johnny and Bo on one side, Barbossa and I on the other—they stopped.

"What is it now?" Barbossa asked, hinting at his annoyance.

"Go on, say it," the older one elbowed the younger one, urging him to respond.

"'K," the younger began nervously, as if he had to muster up all his boldness first. "Well, I was thinkin'…"

"Never a good thing," Barbossa interrupted.

"Seein' as," the pirate continued, "Matthew's got a nickname, an' Bo here…that be 'is nickname. So I was thinkin', I be needin' a nickname too. Sos I've made up me mind. I's a wantin' that you'd call me Slackeh."

I guess now would be a good time to mention that Johnny—Slacker—was born and raised a pirate, thus having no grasp of the English language whatsoever; though, I didn't know that just yet.

"Why, I can't hardly believe you'd actually think that fits you Johnny," Barbossa replied sarcastically.

"I's serious sir! Call me Slackeh!"

"Whatever, just get in the boat." He pushed me in and then climbed in himself.

As Bo and "Slacker" climbed in, Bo whispered, "I'd give 'im three days 'fore that boy is dead."

"How much y'willin' ta bet?" Slacker whispered back.

"One case o' rum."

"Two, an' ye got a deal," and with that, they shook over the length of my life.


	12. Chapter 12

I want to forewarn anyone who reads this chapter to not take everything said at face value. They're pirates for heaven's sake. Most of them are liars. So don't stop reading the story or anything just because one of them says something crazy sounding, for example "The Black Pearl isn't really cursed." Not that that's what they'd say...oh just read it.

* * *

The entire crew sat quietly, listening intently. On the balcony, above the captain's office stood Myra Swann. With her hair pulled half up, a bottle of rum in one hand, and three rings on the other, she had captivated everybody's attention. I stepped onto the ship and saw her there. She wore only a corset, a pair of pants, and a short wrap around her waist, and she was telling a story. A story about a young man, Jason, who pirated for Captain Henry Morgan. I couldn't believe my eyes—or ears!

If it hadn't of been for her voice, I would have never recognized this new version of my mother. In shock, I exclaimed quietly to Slacker, "Is that **really** my mother?"

"Capt'n says not a werd from ye," he replied, continuing toward the jail, but he still answered, "Aye."

I frowned as we walked on. We entered the jail room where Bootstrap held a cell door open for me—surely out of the kindness of his heart. They exchanged a nod of recognition. Apparently, everyone was betting on my life—or maybe that was just my negative opinion of Bootstrap coming out. Then, Slacker left. For hours, I sat silently in the cell doing nothing. I couldn't escape; Bootstrap was there. There were no games. Will had taken the two balls with him. I couldn't practice sword fighting with myself, and I wasn't about to talk to Bootstrap. Very clearly, I was bored.

"If I only had a book," I mumbled to myself.

"What are you grumbling about back there boy?" Bootstrap asked, looking up from what my best guess said was a letter.

"I wasn't talking to you," I replied.

"Not to me? Wesley, there's not another to speak to. Insanity isn't accepted well amongst pirates."

I rolled my eyes and sat there for another minute or so before finally resigning myself to asking, "Do you have a book then?"

"I do," Bootstrap paused to get my hopes up, "but you can't have it." He looked back to his letter.

I mocked him silently before continuing, "Can I see my mother?"

"No." He didn't look up that time.

"What are you doing?" I started walking toward Bootstrap.

"Nothing you can do."

I stood on the cell wall and looked over Bootstrap's shoulder. It was some sort of mesmerizing pattern of numbers and letters. The first line or so had been crossed out and replaced by his version of what it said.

He wrote, "To one who might care to give assistance. Our fellow pirates of the ship Renown have declared a," and that was all he had done so far.

04M12M04M was next, and then Bootstrap's head was in the way. I stood on my tiptoes to try to see more, but that I could see was still the top line. Something stood out to me—another M. Bootstrap had translated it to the character '.'. Then, I looked for a four and found it to be 's'.

"S dot, blank dot, S dot," I muttered to try to remember.

"What?" Bootstrap asked again, standing and turning toward me. I backed off the door quickly, but he had seen me; he knew what I'd said. I could tell by the look on his face.

"S.O.S.," I replied quietly, "The ship declared an S.O.S."

"I thought…I told you not to," he began and then, just stopped.

I smiled, "But that is what the message says isn't it?"

He stared silently at the paper. Then, he looked up and said, "Someday you'll wish you didn't know that."

"Why?" I asked. It seemed a good thing to be able to translate the code.

Bootstrap then proceeded to go into a long, drawn out description of where the letters come from: the POLANDs.

Okay, since this is a really boring part in my life, I feel quite okay adding some more bore with this short detour entitled **What really is a POLAND? **I feel this works much better if it is drawn, so thou can actually see it. Therefore, I suggest thee walks over to that white board and takes the lid off that dry marker, goes to the store and buys a poster board, or steals some of your kids' chalk and useth thy sidewalk—what thee prefers.

Now, take thy pen, marker, or other writing utensil and draw a BIG circle. That is the world. On the world, draw several other shapes such as triangles, squares, or blobs. These are landmasses. Scattered across these shapes are thousands of little 'x's called people. These people—or POLANDs—are actually nothing more than pirates…on land…and not in the water.

Some POLANDs—situated about an hour's hard ride apart—are quite similar to the Pony Express…just faster…and pirates. They also deliver people if asked properly. Other POLANDs work for—surprisingly—the government. For as thou shalt see, many a years future in me life, it happens to be discovered that many pirates, unbeknownst to their employers, deliver vital information about ship routes to regular pirates through the…Pony Express Express.

So that's what a POLAND is. Now you know. That is exactly what Bootstrap said, just longer, more descriptive, and more boring. Since I knew all of this, I chose not to listen. When I started paying attention again, he was freaking out and talking about kidnapping, torturing, and killing.

I didn't really want to hear about that either, so I changed the subject by blurting out, "Jack's alive."

"What?" He asked.

"Jack," I repeated, "I saw him on Tortuga. He's actually the reason I'm back here…but that's…he misses my mother."

"Jack," he thought for a second. Then, he walked over to the entrance of the jail and called up, "Bo'sun!"

"Yes sir," a deep voice replied from the deck. It was surely a black man, based on his voice.

"Bring me Miss Swann," he commanded skeptically. Turning back to me, he added, "You better not be lying to me."

I just smiled. Bootstrap shook his head in disapproval. We sat in silence again until Mother came down.

"What is it?" She asked, "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes," he replied, "Come along." Bootstrap led her over to my cell.

"Wesley!" She exclaimed as soon as she saw me. "You're back! I missed you so much!" She kneeled, and hugged and kissed me through the bars. She paused for a second, wondering, "Are you okay Wesley?"

"Yeah." I frowned. I didn't feel like anything was wrong. What was she seeing?

"You're different Wesley. More quiet, somewhat pensive."

"So? Is that wrong? Six months ago I wouldn't have known what pensive meant. I just think more now. You've changed too."

"Yes!" She stood up and spun around as if to show it off. "Do you like it?"

She was still in the same pants, and the same short wrap. She had taken off the corset and replaced it was an elbow-length, white, baggy shirt. All of her hair had been put up sloppily, and her feet were bare.

"At least you're wearing clothes now," I mumbled.

"Don't give me that attitude, Wesley," she commanded loudly.

Bootstrap's eyes opened wide, and he jumped between Mother and me. "No, no, no," he interrupted, "This is a secret. You're not supposed to be here, and you're not supposed to see her."

"Well, in that case, what am I doing here?" Mother asked as she turned to leave.

"Because Jack is alive," he stated. Mother stopped in her tracks.

"Really?...Can I see him?"

"That is why you are here. Wesley says Jack is waiting for you on Tortuga. If we sneak you out tomorrow evening, we will be just close enough to Haiti that you could get there easily, and Tortuga isn't far from there."

She smiled for a while before continuing, "Well, I shall have to dress up. This is very special." She paused in thought. "I do still have my red dress."

"You mean the one you used to wear for Father on your anniversary?" I asked, not really liking that idea.

"Yes, that one. It's special enough, don't you say?" She sighed, "Jack."

Then, all of a sudden, we heard Barbossa talking to the Bo'sun just outside the door. Mother listened for a second before running out the other door. Barbossa came down into the jail and waved Bootstrap over. They spoke quietly for a little while. I could tell Barbossa was mad by the gestures he used, but I couldn't hear anything. After a short time, Barbossa left.

Bootstrap came back over to me and questioned, "Would you like to do some more translating for me?"

I smiled.

I stayed up all night translating letters for Bootstrap. By the morning, I was sick and tired of reading the same annoying things about the same annoying parties. Everynow and then there was a lost person, a warning of a coming storm in the Bahamas, or someone's ship had been stolen, but mostly it was parties. I only had three or four notes left when Bootstrap finally came back. He too had stayed up all night, doing what only a select few knew. He had left after I had finished fifteen or so letters. When he returned, he brought with him six others, the 'select few.' They were the same people who had been at the meeting in Jack's room—this time without Barbossa and Jack.

"How's it coming Wesley?" Bootstrap asked.

"Okay, I guess. I'm almost done," I replied, standing up and bringing him the letters I was done with. "How did your night go?"

He didn't answer me. I don't know why I expected him to, or why I even asked, but I did, and he didn't.

Instead, he turned back to the group, "Remember the letters I showed you? The ones not in my handwriting, done by someone else? They are his. But this is why I really called the meeting: you noticed that he was showing less and less of his work, but look at this. After a few times, he was just translating in his head, like he could just read the code." He passed a few copies out to three of the people—the ones that could read. They looked at the letters for a while, contemplating.

"So he can translate better than you," George said, handing the letter back. "I'm still not seeing why you think it's a good idea to tell him all the rest of our secrets."

"Secrets?" I broke in, "Bootstrap, what were you doing last night? What did Barbossa tell you? Why'd you all of a sudden let me read the letters? What secrets?"

Everyone looked at Bootstrap like: "you got yourself into this."

"Wesley, Barbossa wants one of us to leave the ship," Bootstrap explained. "One of us has to walk the plank, and I volunteered."

I paused for a second, "Why? I mean, I don't like you personally, but I don't think I could ever come up with a reason for ye to die—any of you."

A Spanish man continued, "Kid, our entire lives are secrets. Secrets Barbossa keeps from the crew, secrets the crew keeps from Barbossa. We know them all, and we tell them when it's important to. But…everytime we tell one of Barbossa's secrets, he gets mad and forces one of us overboard."

"I don't believe it," I protested.

"Why not?"

"How do you keep secrets from an entire crew of pirates? Their lives are based on stealing, goods and information! It's impossible to keep any big secret from people like that, and anything small enough isn't worth keeping."

"You'd be surprised by what Barbossa doesn't tell the crew," Bootstrap supplied. "Like why he really wants you here."

I frowned at him, but didn't get a chance to say anything before another pirate added, "Or there really ain't no curse."

"No curse?" I repeated, shocked. On Tortuga I had found out there was.

At the same time, everyone exclaimed, "Dingo!"

"Now we have to tell him," a fourth one spoke up. After a nod of agreement from George, he continued, "Yes, Wesley, we see where you're coming from. That's exactly what we thought when we first found out. Stories of treasure buried on an island that cannot be found except for by those who know where it is. Find it we did, and we took all the gold, spent it and traded it. The more we gave it away, the more we feared the curse, for food and drink would not satisfy the poor, so-called 'cursed' souls. These men of us cannot feel, cannot be pleased. Desperately, we searched for a cure while you were gone, but all we could find was the source: a drug from the fountain of youth. Our crew is addicted to the smell and feel of getting younger."

"And there is no curse?" I inquired, frowning even more. This was seeming really fictional. The fountain of youth wasn't real…was it?

"It be a curse of sorts," George answered, "without the drug, they go crazy, with it, they are walking dead people who will one day, for absolutely no reason, just die."

"And that," Bootstrap continued, "is why Barbossa would not tell the crew. If they found out he had killed them all—while Jack had been overthrown the first time—they would have welcomed Jack back with open arms and planned a mutiny against Barbossa, thus foiling all his evil plans."

"Evil plans?" I raised my eyebrows, showing that I really meant, _Now which lying pirate should I believe?_

Before they could respond, though, KABOOM, there was a loud explosion just outside the ship. Up on deck we heard, through the commotion, Barbossa giving hurried orders, "Bring the ship about!" "Load the cannons!" Then another blast hit, close enough to shake the ship.

"Stay here!" Bootstrap ordered as he and his six friends ran off to help.

_Great,_ I thought to myself, _My first real pirate battle and I can't even see anything._ Just as I thought that, another cannon blasted into the ship. The explosion was so powerful that it lifted me off my feet and threw me through the cell door.

"Bloody awesome!" I exclaimed, picking myself up off the floor. Then, I glanced over to the hole, and water was pouring in. I ran out the entrance, and onto the middle level of the ship. Bootstrap was there, commanding the "cannoneers."

"Hurry, you lazy dogs!" He shouted, "This ain't time to be foolin' 'round." Then, he turned around and noticed me. "Wesley, I thought I told you to stay down there."

"Yeah, but it's flooding," I replied.

"So?" He asked, coming toward me, "Does that give you the right to leave? No, get back in there."

"But it's flooding, like filling up with water!"

Bootstrap glanced in, "Shiver me timbers, it is…but I cannot keep my eye on you. Stay down there 'til you can't no more. Then, knock an' I'll let you out."

"Yes sir," I said reluctantly, walking back down. I mumbled to myself, "I'll just swim out the hole, no one will notice."

"No one will notice," Bootstrap repeated, closing the door behind me. He had an idea. "Twigg!"

"Aye Sir," Twigg replied, running over from a cannon. He had blonde, scraggly hair, and a dirty, young face.

"Take charge for me," Bootstrap commanded, continuing up to the deck.

Meanwhile, back below deck where I was, I had gotten my handcuffs off. I jumped into the water, which was now knee deep, to swim out the hole, but I was back out of the water in less than a second. It was so cold!

"I guess I'll just sit here," I said to myself, climbing to the top of the stairs.

Bootstrap really had a good idea.

"This would be the perfect time for you to escape Myra!" Bootstrap explained, "No one will ever notice until you're too far gone."

"But isn't it dangerous to go out there?" She wondered, reluctant to step out of the room.

"Aye, but it's dangerous here too. Don't worry; I'll protect you."

"Oka-ay," she agreed, stepping out the door.

Bootstrap ushered her toward the lifeboats, but the door closed on her dress. When he noticed, he stopped to get it out of the door. While he did that, a British soldier, James Norrington, took aim at Bootstrap. He fired. However, at the exact same second, Bootstrap stepped to the side. My mother screamed, falling into Bootstrap's arms.

I heard her scream from all the way below deck. That was it; I couldn't stay down there any longer. I had to be with my mother! I started banging incessantly on the door. I tried to push it open, but it wouldn't budge. Someone must have been lying on it. I didn't want to swim over to the other door, but I had no choice. Even if it wasn't for my mother, I would have to get out eventually, and I wasn't going to be able to get out the door I was at. So I dived into the water and swam across the ship.

I came back up, gasping and freezing cold with saltwater in my eyes. By that time, the water was only about a foot away from the ceiling and rising quickly. I reached to push the hatch open, but instead I ended up pushing myself back under the water. This time I came back up coughing. That wasn't going to work either. I reached through the holes in the hatch and felt the wood that had fallen on it.

_Great,_ I thought, _Now I'm stuck below deck, in a ship that's sinking, and my mother is dying up there, and I can't be up there with her!_ So I did what any eight and a half year old would do. I screamed for help, took a big breath, and let the water cover over my face. Amazingly, someone grabbed my hand that was reached through the door. You see, Ragetti had been crawling on his hands and knees behind the pile off rubble that in part was blocking my exit. He hadn't heard my call for help. I doubt anyone had with all the rest of the ruckus out there.

However, he did see my hand as he crawled by, and he grabbed hold of it. He tried to kick the rubble off the door. He had to use his feet because he was holing my hand with one of his and a bandage over his eye with the other. As soon as the door was cleared, Ragetti let go of me for a second. He opened the hatch and brought me out of the water. Laying me down on the deck, Ragetti noticed for the first time who he was saving.

"Wesley?" He asked, turning his head to the side.

I gasped, which made me cough. Then, I moaned and opened my eyes. At first everything was blurry, but gradually, Ragetti came into focus. As soon as he had, though, there was another explosion near us. It sent us both flying, and I hit my head on something that knocked me unconscious.

By that time, George was over with Bootstrap and my mother. "Could you hand me the clamp?" George asked Bootstrap, while applying pressure to the wound.

"Sorry," Bootstrap replied, "I believe that's been lost in the battle."

"Marvelous." George paused to think of what to do, "Could you fetch me some rum then?"

"Of course," Bootstrap agreed, running off to get some.

"You're going to be all right, okay Myra," George tried to comfort Mother. She was crying and breathing heavily. He stroked her hair and touched her face. "We're going to save you."

Bootstrap returned with bad news, "George, there's none left. All of below is flooded."

George looked Mother in the eye. "Grab Bootstrap's hand Myra. This is going to hurt." As soon as Bootstrap kneeled down and took Mother's hand, George asked him, "Isn't Wesley still down there?"

Before he could respond, Mother screamed, "Wesley!" and tried to sit up. Bootstrap realized what George was trying to do, so he held her down. That gave George just enough time to pull the bullet out of Mother while she was still distracted.

"Got it!" He announced.

Then, Bootstrap answered Mother, "I'm sure Wesley is fine. Now don't move."

"Okay," she whispered, crying harder now.

"We're almost done Myra. We only have to put you back together now," George said pulling out a needle and thread. She squeezed harder on Bootstrap's hand as George started sewing her back up. George was half-way done when he felt the muzzle of a loaded musket against his head.

"Step away from Miss Swann," Norrington commanded.

George put his hands—now covered in blood—in the air, and slowly stood up along with Bootstrap. "I think you're making a mistake, Sir," George responded, "I can save her."

"I cannot allow you to touch the governor's wife," Norrington explained.

George and Bootstrap looked at each other. Sometimes they forgot how important she really was. It made sense then, that the British navy would be attacking pirates and not the other way around. They had come to retireve her.

"Murtogg," Norrington called.

"Aye Sir.," a marine responded.

"Bring Miss Swann back to the ship."

Aye Sir."

"No," Mother whispered, stirring slightly.

"No?" Norrington was shocked. "What have you doned to her? You dirty pirate!" He pushed George over with his musket. "Murtogg, get Miss Swann out of here immediately!"

"No," Bootstrap argued, jumping between Norrington and Mother. "Didn't you hear the lady? She said no! As in 'no, don't move me'" He turned to Murtogg. "Moving My—Miss Swann could be detrimental to her health. She could even…die."

"Well, if what you say passes, and she does die, I'll shoot him." Norrington pointed the musket back at George, who was still on his hands and knees.

"That's counter-productive. He's the only one who can save her."

Norrington didn't change his mind, but only a second later, he also had a pistol pointed at his head. He turned around quickly as Barbossa replied, "It's not very kind of you to make threats like that."

He continued, getting everyone's attention, "Ship's company! Gentlemen!" He raised his hat and returned it to its place after turning to Mother and saying, "Lady…I believe it be time for a truce!"

Some of the crowd agreed, and some did not. George snuck back over to Mother. Murtogg noticed this and almost went after him but decided against it.

"Now Mister…" Barbossa began.

"Norrington, Captain James Norrington," the officer responded, annoyed. Some in his crew mumbled a bit, knowing he wasn't the captain yet, even though, he did most of the captain's jobs.

"Ah, Mister Norrington, what is it ye want from us humble pirates?"

"We have been sent here on an expedition, authorized by Weatherby Swann, governor of Port Royal, Jamaica, English territory, to retrieve his wife at any cost."

"Oh, so yer after Myra."

Norrington stared blankly, not used to that name.

"Well in thact case," Barbossa assumed, "I suppose you'd want his son as well."

Norrington wasn't exactly sure how to answer that question, but the awkward silence caused by his speechlessness was quickly ended when George stood up exclaiming, "She's dead, and your men have killed her!" He pushed Norrington.

Norrington shoved back, countering, "Not so, it must have been your men."

The news spread through both crews rapidly, with some of them muttering, "Myra's dead," or something of the sort. The whole battle was suddenly taken up again.

Barbossa shot in the air and shouted, "Silence!" He paused to let things quiet down, and then stated, "If ye want Miss Swann, take her. Let the poor governor have her body. We have no use for a dead body."

Everyone was in agreement with that statement.

"But…" he continued, "we will be taking something of yours in return."

Norrington knew what he meant. It was only fair, but how do you replace the governor's wife, who to the pirates was just a fun, loving woman? They didn't need more money. The best he had to give was a young, healthy sailor, who would certainly then be forced into service, but after a battle like that, he couldn't afford to lose any men. Neither did he want to give any of them up to piracy. He simply had no choice.

"Bartholomew," he called, "come here."

A young man looked up. He was kind of an apprentice to Norrington was still learning the art of sailing. Since he was inexperienced, and only there because his father was rich, he wouldn't be too terrible to lose. But that was not how Bartholomew felt about it. He'd heard the stories about what pirates did to people. It didn't help, either, that as he walked by, people were bidding him farewell with sad eyes or a pat on the back. He came forward, though, just as he was told. Barbossa chained his hands. A few soldiers picked up Mother. They went back to their ship, and both crews began the lengthy process of recovering.


	13. Chapter 13

I woke up to the sound of footsteps near me. Two men stopped at my feet and said something about a poor kid. Thinking it must be me, I tried to move, but it hurt too much. I opened my eyes, but it was too bright. All I could do was moan a little, which I did. The two men heard it and rushed toward me.

One said, "He's awake."

I tried opening my eyes again and had to blink a few times to adjust. It was blurry, but then things cleared, and I saw George and Dingo there. Together they sat me up.

"How're you feelin'?" George asked.

I felt kind of dizzy. My head was pounding, but instead of responding, I questioned, "What happened?" and reached toward the pain.

"You hit your head," George replied, grabbing my hand. I had already touched the wound, so it was covered in blood. George noticed my worried expression, and explained, "Don't worry, heads bleed a lot, but you'll be fine. I was about to bandage you up again." He pulled some bandage out of the bag beside him and suggested, "Continue Dingo."

"As I was sayin', seven people've died. Luckily for the capt'n, none of 'em was 'cursed.' Twelve've been injured. Abraham's dying, an' Bootstrap disappeared."

"Disappeared? Like completely? Has nobody seen him?"

"Nobody, Sir, "Dingo repeated.

"Hmm." George finished my bandage, and just in time too.

"George!" Pintel called across the ship. "We need you over here."

George packed a few things back into his bag, stood up, and commanded, "Dingo, tell Barbossa that Wesley's awake."

"Aye Sir," Dingo agreed as George walked toward Pintel.

"George, Sir," Pintel began as soon as George got thtere, "look at his eye."

Ragetti, who was the one that the eye belonged to, whimpered, "Me eye."

George took a deep breath and lifted the cloth that Ragetti held over his eye. Not too long after that, Barbossa came out of his room. He started wandering around, asking how people were. He seemed a very kind and caring captain. Dingo immediately delivered the news, just as George had asked him to.

"Excuse me fer a moment, would ye," Barbossa said to the pirate he was talking to when he heard the news. He followed Dingo back to me.

"Good morning Wesley," he greeted kindly as he yanked me to my feet and tied my hands behind my back. Roughly, he pushed me over to the edge of the ship, what he called "the temporary jail area." Then, he just went back to talking to the crew. I lay there for a while, thinking about my head. It felt like somebody had shook up my brain and shot it with a cannon. I rolled onto my front side. There in front of me was someone new, a British soldier by the clothes, with his hands shackled. He wasn't yet twenty. I realized he was the "poor kid" George had mentioned…but he did have a knife.

"Hi," I said awkwardly to get his attention.

"Hello," he replied dejectedly.

"Can I have your knife?"

"What?"

"Ill give you the key."

"Sure," he agreed, rolling his eyes.

I waited for him to hand it to me. That was the right way to do it, right? It was his property; he could reach it easier, but he didn't make a move toward it. I grumbled and clumsily climbed to my knees. Then, I plopped to my butt, facing away from him. I scooted close enough to reach the knife. He leaned away, a little horrified, but it was his fault. After a short while, I was able to cut the rope that was tying my hands. I turned my back to the edge of the ship, reached to my neck to get the key, and handed it to the boy with his knife. He looked for a while, just thinking, before taking them.

"I didn't think you'd do that," he commented as he unlocked himself.

I wasn't sure whether the "that" was taking his knife or giving it back, so I just answered, "I'm a pirate…kind of."

"I'm," he paused. I could see his mind searching through everything he was learning, everything he would be but wasn't yet. I could hear the slight disappointment when he continued, "Bartholomew. Bartholomew Schmitty."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mister Schmitty," I said politely, holding my hand out to shake his. "I'm Wesley."

"Wesley," he repeated, shaking my hand, "as in Wesley Swann?"

"Yeah," I sighed, ten finished in my mind _I wish people would stop associating me with my freak father._

"Oh, that's got to be hard."

"What?" I asked confused..

"Knowing that your father hates you so much, he would send out a search party with special instructions that you should never be seen again."

"Kill me!" I was surprised, but not shocked.

Schmitty continued, "And then to find out the same search party that was supposed to kill you, accidentally killed your mother instead. Tough, tough, tough."

"My mother is dead!" I exclaimed questioningly, standing up as he said the last three words. "George!" I called all the way across the ship to ask him. I knew she had been shot, but I wasn't ready to admit she was dead.

George looked up from Ragetti's eye, but he was quickly distracted by Barbossa. After talking to a few people, Barbossa had decided this was the time. He had gone back to his room, and now returned with Bootstrap. Bootstrap stood there calmly, hands cuffed. The crew began to mumble about it all, wondering what was going on.

"Ship's company," Barobossa began to get their attention, "remember Jack? The things he did to us, the way we crushed him for it and put him away? He would have been destroyed, out of our way for all eternity, save…" he paused, "someone convinced us to bring him back. And who was that someone?"

"Bootstrap!" The crew replied. The few in his "secret group" just watched.

"So take him back we did, but Jack was no different. The spoils were not equal; he played favorites. He used us to his advantage, so I did away with him. Oh, how much better things have been since he left! But someone is once again against us! This same betrayer has been scheming plots to find Jack. And what do we call that?"

"Mutiny!" They replied again.

"Mutiny, treason, treachery. And what do we do to traitors?"

"Kill them!"

"So what will we do to him?"

"Kill him!"

One of the people in the crowd shouted, louder than anyone else, "To the plank!"

All of the crew—besides the "secret group" and the injured such as Ragetti—flooded toward the plank near Schmitty and me. Dingo joined the crowd to step out and tell me Bootstrap was going to escape to the territory of North Carolina. I shrugged. Why would he tell me that? Was it even possible for Bootstrap to do that? They were strapping cannonballs to his boots. Then, I suddenly realized that's what they would do to me. My stomach dropped. Everything seemed slower as they pushed him off. I watched over the edge as he fell. He hit; he sank, completely covered by water. I sank to my knees.

"Was he your friend?" Schmitty asked as I turned back around and sat down.

"No," I answered.

"Then, why would you care about them throwing him overboard?"

"They're gonna do that to me next."

He thought for a second. "Okay, I'll admit I'm confused. You are a prisoner on your own pirate ship, and your own captain is trying to kill you."

"Simply," I clarified, "I already found Jack."

He seemed to understand. Gradually the crowd began to disperse, which meant Bootstrap hadn't resurfaced. A shiver ran down my spine as I thought of the idea of drowning, and Bo getting a whole two cases of rum from it. Only a moment later, Barbossa knelt down in front of us.

"I see you've made a friend already," he said to Schmitty, picking up my key which never got returned. Schmitty and I looked at each other and smiled. Could you really call that a friendship?

"We pirates," Barbossa continued, "have a little opportunity, ye might say, fer our captives. If they do two things fer us, we'll walk 'em right back to their house with a handful o' gold."

"There aren't any catches are there?" Schmitty asked suspiciously.

"No catches," Barbossa assured. "Now I never promised the jobs would be easy or quick. You are my prisoner, completely at my disposal, 'til ye finish, an' I must approve of what ye do, but it is certainly better than dying, is it not?"

Schmitty looked to me for reassurance.

I nodded, "It's the truth." I could have added, though, that the going home part happened but generally didn't work.

"All right," he agreed, standing up, "all right, I'll do it."

"There's the spirit," Barbossa noted. "Now how much d'ye know 'bout medicine?"

"Uh…you eat lemons to get rid of scurvy."

"Good," Barbossa interrupted somewhere in there, "see that man?" He pointed to George.

"Yes Sir."

"Job one": help him, until I tell you to stop."

Schmitty walked toward George. For a while, Barbossa and I just watched him. Before he could even make it to George, though, Bo, Slacker, and another pirate stopped him to talk.

"Hi, I'm Clubba," Slacker said, grabbing Schmitty's hand and shaking it.

"What?" Schmitty asked, wiping his hand on his pants.

At the same time, the other pirate exclaimed, "Clubba! But ye was Boxer last week!"

"An' Slacker fer a day in between," Bo added.

"Slacker?...Oh, oh yes. Yes Slacker, but why Clubba?"

"Aye," Clubba replied, "I's decided, I ain't so much a Slackeh I thought I was. Afte' tha' battle this morn', I is feelin' very…Clubby."

"Se ye are Clubba," the other understood and continued, "I'm Nipperkin." He reached out to shake Schmitty's hand as well.

Schmitty thought about it for a while before slowly inching his hand forward, surprised to find himself shaking Bo's hand instead. "I'm Bo," he said.

"It's really Toaster," Clubba commented.

"T-o-w-c-e-s-t-e-r, Toaster," Nipperkin interrupted.

"But we call 'im Bo."

"Nice to meet you," Schmitty mentioned, "Bo, Nipperkin, Clubba…I'm Bartholomew Schmitty, and I need to get to that man." He pointed to George.

"Oh, George," Nipperkin acknowledged, and they ushered Schmitty over to him.

Barbossa turned back to me, "You know that goes for you too."

"No it doesn't Sir," I responded. "That law applies only to unassociated prisoners who haven't caused any problems."

"I knew you'd say that…I never thought I'd have to tell you this, but we need your help." He held out my key in front of me. "Are you willing to forgive a mistaken pirate?"

I grabbed the key and jumped into Barbossa's arms, thankful that he would forgive me. He stood up, and I wrapped my legs around him and laid my head on his shoulder whispering, "Thank you…thank you."

He looked down, perplexed by this new addition to his body. He was suddenly reminded of why he didn't like kids, but I was there now. I wasn't going to be coming off any time soon. Knowing that somehow softened him up, and he smiled, cautiously patting my back.

After a moment, he asked, "Can you obey?"

"I can…I can," I answered quietly.

Meanwhile, Norrington stood basking in this seemingly minor victory. His inferior quietly and calmly endured through it all.

"Captain James Norrington," he said to himself in the mirror. Then, he turned toward the inferior, "Does that not sound marvelous."

"But Sir, Miss Swann is dead. How do you expect to be rewarded for that?"

"Ah, but I found her," he explained, fixing his shirt in the mirror, "only I found her."

They heard a soft knock on the door, "Pardon me Sir," another soldier said, pushing the door pen. "I have some good news."

"Gillette," Norrington replied, "how could there be good news? Twenty of our men are dead."

He smiled, "Miss Swann is alive." An expression of shock came across the faces of Norrington and his inferior as the three rushed to her bedside. Certainly, there she was, alive.

* * *

End of Part One: A Life of Miracles or Mistakes

Begin Part Two: Borrowed Without Permission


	14. Part 2: borrowed without permission

I'm so sorry it's been such a long time since I updated. My story is divided into three parts and, silly me, I decided to type the third part before the second. Hopefully I can go back to updating once a week now, though. Then, when I hit part three, it will go like a chapter every couple of days. (or I could always upload it all at once and overload everyone.)

Thanks to everyone who sticks with me. : D

* * *

4 years later

_Dear Diary,_

_Today was the most unusual but wonderful day of my life. Just like every Wednesday, I was out in the forest just humming away at another of the songs I made up and picking flowers for Her Majesty the Queen. All of a sudden, a boy burst through the trees and ran straight into me. Gathering together all my flowers that I'd dropped, he said something I couldn't understand. He looked and spoke like he was from India. I just looked at him, confused._

_Then, guessing I didn't speak English, he said in very broken Spanish, "Follow me…Spanish king's people…follow me…kill you." But he used the wrong form of you._

_I shook my head and interrupted, "I speak English."_

"_The soldiers…they're following me, and they'll kill anyone who gets in their way." It took a second for what he said to make sense, but by the time it had, he had already grabbed my hand saying, "Come on."_

_He dragged me through the forest as fast as we could both go. Then, he stopped. He let go of my hand and looked up and all around him, amazed by the large trees. After a second, he started climbing one. He turned back, still hanging to the tree. "Can you climb trees?"_

"_Of course," I replied, taking his free hand and grabbing the tree just below him. For a while, we climbed in silence, but then, my foot slipped off a branch. The boy heard me scream, and , hanging from the tree upside down, he caught my hand. At the same time, he dropped most of my flowers on my head._

_I laughed as he pulled me up to the branch he was hanging from. I took my shoes off because they were the reason I'd slipped. I stood up on the branch and leaned against the one above it, and he started climbing again._

"_Wait," I said; he turned around. "Thank you." For a moment we just looked at each other, but it was interrupted when suddenly three Spanish soldiers burst through the trees. I was shocked! "you __**are**__ a…" He put his finger to his lip and kept climbing. Quietly, I followed._

_Then, the soldiers started shooting at us. We ran across a branch and onto the top of a cliff. "Ha!" He said, kicking dirt down at the soldiers. He noticed I was frowning, so he continued, "Yes, I am an outlaw." He handed back what was left of my flowers—just a bunch of stems and two white flowers._

"_So much for spending a nice morning picking beautiful flowers," I complained. The boy was wandering around, looking for a way to get down._

"_I think those flowers are very pretty," he replied._

"_Maybe they were meant to be together. What do you think?"_

"_Huh?" He looked up from the other side of the cliff._

"_Were you listening?"_

"_No…can you swim?"_

"_No."_

_Then, his eyes opened wide because a soldier climbed up to where we were. "To bad," he said, running toward me. He grabbed my hand and we jumped off the cliff. It seemed like forever as we fell the fifty feet hand-in-hand, and then we hit. Our hands were ripped apart, and I just sank._

I came back to the surface gasping for air. Then, I noticed that the girl I was with hadn't. I went back under to try to find her. She was caught in some seaweed. I had to save her; this was my fault. I dove down toward her and fussed to get her untangled. To carry her to the surface was much more difficult. Her dress made her so heavy. Eventually, though, we made it back up. I breathed deeply, but she didn't. As quickly as I could, I swam over to a little cave and dragged her up on shore. She still didn't move.

Then, I heard someone talking along the shore. I peaked out to see who it was. It was two Spanish soldiers; I didn't have much time. I looked back into the cove and noticed that they stored a handful of life boats in there. I had an idea. In just a second, I was swimming back out to sea, unnoticed because I was underwater. All they saw was a drifting boat—that I was pulling with the girl laying under a blanket.

One of the soldiers jumped in the water to retrieve the boat, but it was deeper than he expected. I'd planned on that reaction. As soon as I was out of shot range of the other soldier, I climbed into the boat and started rowing. He fired one shot that was short and then gave up. _One more miraculous escape for Wesley Swann,_ I thought smirking.

A couple hours later, I was taking a break from rowing when the girl woke up. Slowly, she opened her eyes. For a while, she just stared at the huge blue sky.

"Good morning Miss," I greeted, forgetting she knew me to be from India.

She hurriedly sat up. Then, she noticed the boat, the ocean, me. Her eyes widened, and she scrambled to her feet.

"Liar," she screamed, "criminal, kidnapper!" She turned and jumped off the boat.

"No wait! You can't swim!" I called after her, flinging myself across the boat. I caught her under her shoulders, but the boat was lopsided. It flipped over on top of us. Once again, I had to bring her back up—this time under the boat. She grabbed onto one of the seats, gasping for air.

"You told me you were from India," she accused.

"I told you nothing; you assumed."

"Well, why would anyone pretend to be from somewhere else?"

"I told you. I was running from the Spanish. Did you not believe me?"

She thought for a second, beginning to calm down. "What did you do? I mean that was illegal?"

"I work with a group of outlaws that steal from innocent people on ships."

"You're a pirate! Take me home immediately, you dirty, rotten, girl stealer!" She exclaimed, pushing me under the water.

I came back up and stated calmly, "You came with me willingly." She stopped, instantly realizing she wouldn't have had to come with me is she hadn't wanted to. She climbed the tree of her own will. Now that she was thinking rationally, I continued, "At the moment, we are closer to the next island than we are to yours. If you'd like, you can leave me there, but I will not return to your home. Now help me flip this back over."

After that, she was silent for a very long time. She did help me flip the boat right side up, and quietly we rowed the short distance to the next island.

Upon arriving, she simply asked, "What next?"

"**I'll** visit my friends," I looked around. I had no idea where we were, what island this was, or where "my friends" would be. However, I had to make her feel like I did. I started taking gigantic steps toward my right.

"What—" she started to ask what I was doing, but I stopped her by holding a finger up to make it seem like I was counting. Then, I switched directions, now heading to the interior of the island. Curiously, she picked up her soaked skirt and followed me.

I switched directions in random places, pretending to make note of big rocks or palm trees, all the while going further into the island. Then, finally I found what I was looking for—houses. I skipped the first few and tried to seem like I purposefully chose the fourth. I knocked on the door.

"Excuse me Ma'am," I began when an older lady answered.

"Don't speak English," she interrupted, starting to close the door, but then, I realized her accent was French.

"Parlez-vous Francais?" I asked, holding the door open.

"Oui," she stopped closing it.

"Um," I thought for a second, "pouvez-vous nous aider? S'il-vous plait." I begged her to help us.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est vous voulez?" She sounded a little annoyed as she asked what I wanted.

"A quelle ile sommes nous?" (What island are we on?)

"Jen e sais pas le nom." (I don't know the name.)

"Savez-vous le region?" I thought she might know the general area.

"No…la Carribe."

I thought for a second. What would I do now? I couldn't find "my friends" the POLANDs without knowing what island it was. Then, I got an idea. There might be a map! I asked her.

"Y a-t-il un cart?"

"Oui, mais je ne peut pas le lire." That explained why she didn't know what island we were on. She couldn't read the map.

"Allez-vous nous montrer? S'il-vous plait?"

"Oui," she rolled her eyes like an old lady and brushed passed us. She led us to the center of the town.

"Voila!" She said and left before I could reply, "merci."

"A map!" The girl—who was still following me—laughed out. "You went through all that for the map! I could have told you it was right here."

"Well no one ever told me there was a map of the island on every island," I replied, trying to find a specific symbol.

"People don't need to tell you. It is obvious just by looking."

"I've only been on three islands. This one, yours—which I was too busy to notice if there was a map—and a pirate island that had no map."

"only three islands," she repeated, "but you are a—"

I covered her mouth. "Not so loud," I whispered, "yes I'm a pirate, but until a week ago, my entire career had been based on the sea. I wish I could tell you more, but I can't. Okay?"

"Okay," she answered quietly.

"Now lets go."

"Where?" She asked.

"There." I pointed to a symbol of a rum bottle and headed in that direction.

"The bar?" She asked, shocked, "Aren't you a little young?"

"Not the bar, my friends' house. They export rum, and maybe they'll be nice and export us as well."

She frowned and was about to ask more when we arrived at the door. I knocked. There was a short commotion inside. Two men dropped to the floor; one pulled his gun, and the other drew his sword.

"Devrions-nous?" The white guy with the pistol asked the black man if they should let me in.

"Ouvert la port," I knocked some more saying _open the door, I'm your friend. _ "Je suis votre ami." I continued after a second, "S'il-vous plait," I begged, "Aidez nous…Je suis un—"

Then, the door opened before I had to say I was a pirate. "Viens," the white man invited me in, "Prenez-place." (Have a seat.)

"Ne dire pas cela encore," He told me never to say that again and then questioned, "Qu'est-ce que tu veut?"

"Quelques vetements pur la Mademoiselle, et un…voyage au…Tortuga." That sentence kind of fell apart as I asked for some clothes for the girl and a ride to Tortuga.

The white guy laughed. In English, he said, "Bukhard, get the lady some clothes. Size small."

"I thought pirates didn't have slaves," I commented.

"I knew you were British!" He exclaimed, then continued, "He's not my slave; he just actually speaks French—unlike you—so he…"

Bukhard interrupted in a very strange accent, "He's trying to say that you're doing well. Keep up the good work." He brought the clothes over. "Your clothes Miss."

"Thank you," she said, accepting them. She set the shoes down on the floor—a little manly, but they would do. However, she was appalled when she unfurled the clothes and long socks and a shirt fell to the floor. She stood there holding man's pants, just staring. "You expect me to wear this?" He asked after a second.

"Have you not a dress?" I inquired, surprised as well.

"We do not supply to many female pirates," the white man replied.

"PIRATES!" She screamed, "I'm not a—"

"Could you just be quiet?" I interrupted.

"I will not wear this." She handed it back to the white man.

"Fine then, you can walk miles over rough terrain in that heavy, soaked, shredded dress." I tried to scare her.

"Hope you can keep up," The white man continued, setting the clothes on a table, picking up a bag of mail, and heading toward the back door. Then, he stopped and called, "Wesley, come here."

I frowned and followed. As soon as we had both left, the girl said, "Give me the clothes Bukhard." When he did, she rolled her eyes and sighed.

"How do you know who I am?" I asked as the white man began saddling a horse.

"Wesley, as a bug, you'll spend your entire life memorizing ships, captains, islands, POLANDs, new tricks…All I have to memorize is pirates, and you're obviously Wesley Swann."

Accepting the explanation, I added, "And the code, you have to memorize the code."

"That doesn't count," he said after a moment, "after a while that is just as simple and necessary as knowing the names of your ship's crew."

"No, it's much simpler. The people on my ship are always changing their names."

He laughed, moving on to the other horse, but then stopped. "Wait, does that mean you know the code?"

"Better than I know French."

"But no…you can't…how?" He didn't know what to say first.

"It took me fifteen minutes. All I had to do was watch someone."

"They let you watch them! Who was it? They're not supposed to—"

"Someone else who wasn't supposed to know," I broke in. "He learned it because it was either that, or a bunch of dead POLANDs. If I say more, we'll both be dead."

Then, the girl came out. She looked interesting in the long white socks that turned into dark grey trousers, and the shirt that was definitely too big. She had thrown most of her hair up under a hat, but parts of the dark curls were falling out. I just tried not to laugh.

She saw the horses and said, "I thought we were walking."

"You can if you want to, "I replied, mounting one of the horses.

"No, I can only take you as far as the next stop," the white man explained, all of a sudden loading rum onto his horse. "Once you're there, who knows what the next link or the link after that might have you do."

"Is Turtaglu that far away?" She wondered, hopping up behind me on the horse.

"Tortuga? Traveling this way…yes." He mounted quickly and rode off. I followed him closely.

The girl was having so much fun as we rode full speed to the beach. Constantly smiling with one hand on her hat and one around me to keep her on, she would sometime point out interesting things. But mostly, she just smiled. Then, we got to the beach and slowed down. For a while, we rode along the beach before stopping at a small sailboat. We all hopped off the horses—I helped the girl, not because she needed it, but because that's what guys do. The white man loaded all the rum and a sack of mail off his horse and onto the boat. He grabbed both horses' reins.

"Are you not coming?" I asked.

"No, it's all your reign now," he said as the girl and I climbed aboard, "the next man will meet you in the beach. Please don't hurt my boat." He untied the boat and pushed us off.

But then he remembered something. "Miss!" He called out to us, "I never got your name!"

"Neither did I," I admitted quietly.

"Kemina," she replied. Then, she called back, "My name is Kemina!"

He waved to us, and we waved back for a while. Then, we set about to getting where we were going.

Not too long after that we arrived to the next island, expecting everything to go just as quickly as the last one. However, something went way wrong. A man who was a little overweight came out to meet us as I tied up the boat.

"Who are you and why are you docked here?" He demanded.

"I was supposed to meet a friend," I looked around for him, "Boswell, he's in the 'alcohol business.'" I tried to sound suspicious.

"That's an aweful small ship to be importing."

"And I'm an awefully small man," I hopped out of the boat and into the water. "There's more where this comes from. This is just a test."

"I've a test for you."

I looked at him questioningly. Who was he? Why did he care? I hardly had time to think that when the man punched me across the face. I stumbled and almost fell. I caught myself and turned back to him, shocked.

"Stephen always delivers alone," the man said. I was starting to think he was Boswell, but why? If he was, wouldn't he recognize me as a pirate? If so, why was he thinking I would hurt himm?

"Boswell" noticed my confusion and continued, "You're with a girl, young man, so who are you and what have you done with Stephen?" All of a sudden, he had a musket pointed at my chest.

"The real question is," I said, kicking him in the stomach. He slipped, and did fall on his butt. Now I had the musket pointed at him. As he propped himself up on his elbows, I finished, "Who are you? And what have yo done with Boswell?"

"What is this you speak of? I am Boswell!"

"Ah, but if ye were Boswell, you would not use this musket," I revealed throwing it into the water, "ye would have a pistol. And ye would not have to ask who I was; ye would know."

"Boswell" hopped to his feet at the first opportunity. "I suggest a dual," he commented, drawing his wword. Kemina screamed and ducked.

"Why?" I asked with my hand on mine.

"The only man left standing," he attacked, and I drew quickly in defense, "is the man he says he is."

"That's a dumb fight," I replied, but we were already fighting.

Fighting in water was harder than on land. You were slower; everything was slippery. Both of us were knocked off balance a couple of times, but we were both good fighters. Recovery was quick, and the battle continued. At one point, he had knocked me over, and I lost my sword. I searched around in the now muddy water with my hands. Unbeknownst to me, "Boswell" was sneaking up behind me.

Gradually, Kemina had begun to peak over the ship, and when she saw "Boswell," she screamed, "Wesley!"

I turned around, still without my sword. Now, I was the one, helpless in the water with my hands behind me as "Boswell" put his sword against my neck.

"Ah, Wesley," he began, "who am I now?"

I looked down at the sword, then up at him and answered, "A well trained British swordsman."

I could see the anger on his face as he lifted the sword to strike. Then, suddenly a boot flew out of nowhere, hitting "Boswell" in the head.

"Take that!" Kemina exclaimed, throwing a rum bottle, but that one missed.

"Boswell" took the pistol from my holster, turned, and shot toward Kemina. I immediately tripped him with my leg as he was turning. He stumbled, and thus missed, but he didn't fall. Kemina ducked and screamed again. Quickly, she peaked over the edge, but showed no more. NO one noticed except for her, that a few hundred feet to the west of us on shore were two men in British soldier garb. Upon hearing the shot, they fought each other. One fell and the other ran towards us.

While she was noticing this, "Boswell" picked me out of the water and slammed me against the boat. He held my shirt and pushed the pistol to the bottom of my jaw. I had no doubt he could or would shoot me, so I just stared up at the clear blue sky waiting for the shot. Then, it came.


	15. Chapter 15

Hehe, I guess it's been longer than a week again. Oops. I've been a little busy working on my other story lately. You can read that one too if ye'd like. It's called Fiction-Land, although I'd like to rename it to something more creative, and it's in the Kingdom Hearts section. It's got Wesley in it too, though. I'll try to get the next chapter up quicker. Read on!

* * *

Chapter 15

I looked down after a second, surprised that it was not I who was dead, but "Boswell." A half-dressed farmer, half-dressed black, British soldier ran up.

Out of breath, he asked, "Are you all right Stephen?" Before noticing he had saved, not his friend but a boy. "Wait," he continued, "you're not Stephen."

_Not again,_ I thought.

"Man, I hate it when that boy sends me pirates to transport, but you're Wesley right?" He inquired after looking at me for a second.

I nodded. That was a good sign.

"You're okay Kid, come on." He put his arm around my shoulder and we walked ashore as he kept talking, "So where're ye headed?"

"Tortuga," I replied.

Kemina popped up from her hiding place, grabbed the bag of mail, and jumped into the water to follow. Boswell—the real one—turned around when he heard the splash.

"Kid it's a good thing we've got a long journey because you have a lot of explaining to do."

"As do you, it's not often ye find a pirate in British uniform."

He looked at his clothes and smiled.

Not too long after that, the three of us were herding a flock of sheep across the island. We had stopped off at Boswell's hideout, met his assistant, dropped off some mail, and gotten another change of clothes. Then, we were on our way—with a smelly flock of sheep.

"And so," Boswell finished up his explanation, "That man wanted to kill Stephen while posing as me. And I would be taken away to rot in a jail 'til they hung me. I was really only waiting for you to start fighting before I did too. Now what's your story? Why ain't ye on the Pearl like you're s'posed ta be?"

"Well, I'm actually hardly ever on my ship because of being a bug. I was on a ship of the Spanish Armada waiting for my ship. As expected, it wasn't too long before they found out I was a pirate, but being as the are Spanish government officials, with no respect for even their own law, they were to kill me the next morning instead of on land."

"How did you get out?" Kemina asked. "What did you do?"

"The only thing I could think of to do: cut a hole in their ship. Then, obviously, they'd have to stop at a port. They were at the nearest island by morning and decided they might as well turn me in. Then, I took off and ran to save my life. I met Kemina," I gestured to her, "in the forest, and **she** came with me. And now, I'm going back to my ship."

"But Wesley," Boswell continued, "we both know your ship doesn't dock at Tortuga."

"Right, it's a place that can only be found if ye already know where it is. But I don't know, and someone on Tortuga does."

"Sorry Kid, Jack's been lost. No one's heard from him in months. He jus' disappeared after a storm." He went to the front of the flock; Kemina and I stayed in the back.

I thought for a while. There was no other way to get back, and Jack couldn't be gone. In my mind Jack couldn't die, and if he did, it wouldn't be that easily. I had to find him! Then, I was interrupted by Kemina.

"These pants are so uncomfortable! Worse than the last," she complained to herself. She took one shoe off and turned to me, "You wanna trade?"

I looked at the shoes and smiled, "No thank ye, anyhow, they wouldn't fit, too small."

"You could walk barefoot," she suggested.

"You walk barefoot!" I replied, trying to show her I wouldn't do it any more than she would. But then, she took her other shoe off with an "okay," and kept walking.

"No! I didn't really mean that," I said, hurrying after her, "there's thorns—" but before I'd gotten that out, she stepped on one.

"Ow!" She called, looking at the bottom of her foot. There in her heel was a small red dot where the thorn had punctured.

"Now your shoes are really going to hurt you," I said, trying not to laugh. Then, she laughed, so I did too.

We continued traveling through the islands one by one, POLAND by POLAND. While none were quite as exciting as Boswell's, each one was different with its own challenges. Climbing up fifty foot rock cliffs, sneaking into the governor's wagon, and a fifteen foot snake that scared Kemina so much she fainted were just some of the experiences. Every POLAND was also different; from kingly merchant to hobo, and from African slave to British soldier.

Eventually, we came to the last leg. I started worrying. I still had no idea what to do once on Tortuga. Everyone had mentioned that Jack was missing or most likely dead. I was sure I could find someone to help me on Tortuga, but then I remembered the people there hated me. _Not everyone hates me for my fiasco with Jack, do they?_ I asked myself, but I couldn't think of anyone I would ask for help who wouldn't hate me. And even if they didn't, would they when they found out I was still looking for him? Would anyone be stupid enough to go searching for him? **No one** knew where he was.

I was thinking of all these things as we climbed the last hill to get into Tortuga around dusk. All of this was interrupted by Kemina who could still only think of her own discomfort. I heard her say something about it.

I rolled my eyes and replied, "How 'bout I buy ye a dress when we get down there if ye stop complainin'."

She thought for a second, and, apparently conceding herself to the idea, she changed the subject. "You still haven't told me about this Jack we're going after."

"And ye have yet to tell me a single thing about you."

"All right…I was born just outside of Madrid, Spain, the second of twins. The doctor insisted my father have me killed, but Mother wouldn't have it. She sent me down to live with my grandparents in the Caribbean. But they were both very old and had died before I was six. There was no one to take care of the plantations, so the Africans took over. Gradually, the slaves took over the whole island."

"That's unusual," I noted when we got to the top of the hill. "Look," I pointed down, "Welcome to Tortuga."

"That doesn't look too bad," she stated mistakenly as we continued walking. Then, she kept telling the story, "However, the woman they elected queen took pity on me and my friend around my age. She allowed us to live, and work for her in the palace—one of the old plantations. I know it seems weird, but Saba's really a nice place."

"Aye," ( smiled, "that's weird." I helped her down off a large rock.

"So, I told you about me, now tell me about Jack."

"He's the first real pirate I officially met. He was in love with my mother, before she died."

"Oh, your mother died. You never told me that part," she said sadly, taking my hand to hop down the last small jump.

"Hmm…Jack was the only thing that really made her happy after Sammuel died. He could make anyone happy, though, always drunk—but a happy drunk. And if ye could make it past his dirty face and bad breath, he's truly an intelligent, kind man."

She laughed. "And why are we looking for him?"

"He's the only person who can lead us back to my ship."

"Oh," she said, suddenly distracted by the older man who warns of coming volcanic disasters. "Poor old man," she empathized as we approached him, "left here with no support."

He was not as active as he had been before. Now he sat at the edge of town vaguely mumbling the warning. "Don't forget 'bout the volcano Kid," he commented quietly as we walked by.

I patted his shoulder. "We won't stay long Gramps, no worries." I walked on. It was nice to know someone didn't hate me, or maybe he just didn't remember that he did.

"He's delirious too!" Kemina exclaimed pitifully, "Shouldn't we help him?"

"Kemina," I replied, drawing her away from him, "his parents left him a gigantic inheritance. When he was 24, he moved down here and invested it all in a lifetime supply of alcohol. Then, the alcohol—not his age—made him delirious. He doesn't need your help."

"Oh," she was shocked.

"Now, prepare yourself for the real city." I gestured out as we became surrounded by men with rum, women with guns, children with swords, drinking and revelry everywhere. Kemina just looked around, horrified by how people could get away with such things.

We kept walking into the city, and Kemina kept scooting closer and closer to me as she saw more and more unusual people. Suddenly, she grabbed my hand. I looked to see what had bothered her. Then, I saw it, a drunk man on a balcony flirting dirtily with a woman in a very revealing dress. I could tell she was a prostitute because she seemed to enjoy the crude comments and nasty remarks. Something must have made the man mad because he dumped his beer down her dress. She slapped him and walked away.

Kemina looked scared. She was probably thinking, _What if that happens to me?_

I realized what she was thinking, so I turned to her and said, "Kemina, if anyone tries to do that to ye, ye tell him to stop." Then I kept walking.

"And what if he doesn't?" She asked, following me.

"The people will make him 'cause there's enough girls here who like it, that, legally, they have to protect those who don't," I paused and looked back at her as I turned the corner. "You'll be all right. Don't worry."

This street wasn't quite as crazy as he last. This was the "honest" merchant side of town, which didn't mean there were no thieves. It was just easier to get caught.

"Wait!" Kemina called, suddenly stopping in front of a man by the side of the road. She pulled off her hat, letting her hair fall down, and pulled a small pouch from the hat. As she reached for the few silver pieces in her pouch to give to the "beggar," I caught something out of the corner of my eye. Cautiously, I took one.

"Thank ye Miss," The pretend beggar said to Kemina as she moved toward me, "May Morgan bless ye fer the kindness of yer heart!"

She frowned, unaccustomed to the saying. I just smiled and shook my head, continuing to walk.

"What was that for?" She asked, catching up.

"What?"

"That look…you shook your head at me. Why?"

"Hide this in your shirt," I replied, seemingly changing the subject. I handed her a large bag of gold pieces—what I had stolen from the "beggar."

"Why? You didn't steal it or anything…did you?"

I just smiled.

"From that poor old beggar? You should be ashamed of yourself!" She turned away a little.

"No Kemina, you should be ashamed of yerself." I said calmly, "he had six of these, six! A beggar like that can make more money off of kind, ignorant people like yerself than an honest business man can. And ye fell right into his trap."

She looked back to me, and I continued, "Life amongst pirates is different from that in a palace. There ye live to help others; here to live, one can help no one but themselves…so well ye hide the gold fer me or not?"

She took the bag and stuffed it down her shirt. We continued walking, and Kemina acted like she was pregnant. In less than a minute, we were at a small market stand, and the clerk was laughing at us as Kemina tried to decide on a dress.

"Which do you like Wesley? Blue or yellow?" She asked holding them against herself.

"They're the same dress," I replied, not really caring, "and they're both blue and yellow."

"Yes, but this one has more blue, and that one has more yellow." She held the left one out for blue and the right one out for yellow.

"I don't know; I can't tell the difference…blue."

"Blue then," she laid the blue dress on the counter near a mail bag I was getting to hide the money and handed the yellow one back to the clerk.

"Oh, very nice choice," the clerk commented, fondling the dress one last time. "May I inquire as to the occasion for such a nice, pricy dress?"

I thought for a second. That dress shouldn't have been "pricy."

"How expensive is it?" I asked.

"Ten shillings," he replied, "imported from—"

"Ha!...My mother could make it for less than two! No importation necessary. I shall not pay you more that that fer it, and two for the bag as well, savvy?"

"Fine, as you say…is that all?"

:"Aye."

"That'll be four shillings," he told me, but Kemina still had the money.

"Kemina," I said when she didn't pay him. Somehow she had gotten distracted by some rings. "Kemina," I repeated.

"Huh?" She looked away from them holding one.

The clerk took advantage of her interest in the, saying, "Those rings come directly from West Africa. Made from a stone—"

"Jiwe mwa moto," Kemina interrupted, "I know. Meaning 'the stone of energy' in Swahili. Supposed to change your personality to that of the phrase engraved in it. I want this one." She handed it to me. The clerk looked surprised; he didn't even know that much.

It was made of a red marble-ish stone surrounded by a gold outline and engraved on it were some gold squiggles. It was beautiful.

"Where's the phrase?" I asked, looking around for words.

"There," she replied, laughing as she pointed to the squiggles. Then, she read it.

"What?"

"It means love in Swahili."

"In Swa-what?"

"Swahili…the language most Africans speak."

"You speak the language of the Niggers?" The clerk was surprised again.

I handed him the ring and Kemina handed him four of the coins from her bag, noting, "Not Niggers. Africans." He pushed the stuff toward us. I grabbed the mail bag and Kemina grabbed her dress and ring. We walked off before he could notice she hadn't paid for the ring.

"You bloody pirates!" he called after us. "You stole that!"

We quickened our pace and blended into the crowd, laughing all the while. Not to far down the road, we stopped off at a tavern for Kemina to change into her dress.

"How do I look?" She asked as she came back out.

"Uncomfortable," I replied. Then, I continued, "I never expected you to do that."

"What? Go into a bar?" She handed me the bag of money back.

"That too." I took the bag. "But to steal a ring."

She broke out laughing again, and I put the money in my mail bag. She'd had a drink; I could tell.

"Come on," Kemina laughed, "let's go find Jack."

"Give it back," I said, this time following her.

"What?"

"My money that you stole to buy a drink."

"I didn't buy anything," she lied.

I just watched her for a second. There had only been time for one drink, yet she was tipsy already.

"Honestly Kemina, alcohol really doesn't look well on ye."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Uh huh," I agreed, "ye can't even walk a straight line."

"Well, you stole all that money anyhow."

"Aye, but I didn't get caught. Stealin's only okay if ye don't get caught." She had a confused look on her face, so I added, "Seriously!"

We kept walking and eventually made it to another main road. Kemina grabbed my hand again because of all the unusual people.

"Where are we going?" She asked after a while. So I started explaining Becca, how she had taught me sword fighting, and that she was the only person I could trust. Suddenly, Kemina's hand left mine. I turned around to find her, but I couldn't. It was dark now, and searching by the light of the surrounding bars, I finally caught a glimpse of her. Kemina was trying to get away from a man. People were going about their business like nothing was happening. She wasn't making a big enough fuss, but there were so many people between us. I couldn't get to her.

"Kemina!" I called, trying to find my way through the crowd.

"Wesley!" She screamed back, looking away from the man. He had her by the wrists, and was talking dirty to her with alcohol breath. "Stop it!" She pulled away, but he held tighter. "Let me go!"

Finally, I broke through the crowd. I grabbed Kemina's elbow at the same time as she screamed, "Let me go!" again and he let go. Kemina fell into my arms. However, because of Kemina's last plea that made the man let go of her, everyone in the crowd turned and looked at us.

Obviously, they thought I was the culprit because instantly I was surrounded by men. Kemina was ripped from my arms, my bag was thrown to the ground, and I was escorted to the front of the square. Kemina wanted to help, but she noticed the man who harassed her picking up my bag and walking away. She paused, contemplating what to do first, before chasing after the man. Kemina grabbed the bag and kicked the man in the shin. They fought over the bag for a second—like a game of tug-of-war. Then, the man figured he could live without the money. He pushed Kemina over and ran off, leaving her with the bag.

After a moment, she got up and brushed herself off. She hurried to the front of the crowd to save me. However, when she got there, I was already about to be hung. The people had brought me up to a small ledge and tied my hands behind my back. Another man emerged with a rope. He threw it over a branch of the tree next to me, and the hoop fell down in front of me. I swallowed and held my breath as one of the men—who seemed to be the leader—placed the rope over my head. This was not how things were supposed to go. I closed my eyes.

That's when Kemina showed up. "Mi Dios," she whispered, "you are fast."

My eyes shot open, "Kemina! Do something!"

"Aye," the leader laughed, pushing me a little. I almost fell off the ledge because I couldn't balance too well. He continued, "She'll do somethin' to save ye, my perverted friend."

I looked down at Kemina. She just stood there. Why wasn't she helping? Was she scared? Confused? She couldn't be. There was nothing to be confused about. The leader pushed me again. I was going to fall soon if she didn't do anything. If I fell…well, you know. Kemina had so much going though her mind. I could tell that much. When I stumbled the second time, though, she snapped out of it.

"Stop!" She screamed, climbing onto the ledge. "He didn't do it," she said to the leader. "He didn't do it!" She repeated to the crowd.

_Finally,_ I thought, breathing again.

"What?" The man with the rope asked. He probably figured that if she were going to do that, she would have way before then.

"This is my friend, Wesley…he was protecting me."

"Why didn't ye say so Miss?" The leader asked, taking the rope off my neck and untying my hands. Kemina hugged me.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, laying her head on my shoulder. I felt uncomfortable like that. We weren't even friends yet. We'd only known each other for a week, but she was already hugging me. Girls were quick into a relationship.

The rope man walked over to the leader. "That's a little suspicious," he said. The other man nodded.

"Do you think she might say somethin' different if he's not around?"

"I don't see why…" The leader thought for a moment, "We'll just have to find out." He walked up to us. "Miss, if this young man's not to blame, then who is?"

Kemina looked out into the crowd, eyes searching for the man. I looked too, but neither of us found him.

"He's not here," Kemina replied.

"He's not here," the leader repeated, glancing back at the rope man. "If you saw a picture of him, would you recognize him?"

"Yes."

"Come along them."

She looked at me for an answer. Maybe she was afraid of being with yet another pirate. Maybe she didn't want to leave me there alone. I don't know why she looked at me, but I smiled back. There were plenty of things I could do to keep busy. She set the bag down and followed the leader. He stopped for a moment to whisper something to the rope man, and with a pat on the back, he and Kemina left. The rope man came over to me and grabbed me by the elbow.

"I'm gonna keep me eye on ye," he said quietly. He picked up the bag and led me off in the same direction as Kemina had gone.


End file.
